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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214">Cruciamen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetTheTank/pseuds/MeetTheTank'>MeetTheTank</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Draco et Diaboli [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NieR: Automata (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, 9S is a half demon, A2 is Nonbinary, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Fantasy Biology, Monster of the Week, On the Run, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, genre typical violence, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:53:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetTheTank/pseuds/MeetTheTank</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the arrest, torture, and botched execution of 9S, he and the dragoness 2B set out for a hidden village of peaceful demons far to the north. In addition to the countless dangers that lie around every corner, something pursues the duo across the world. Their bond will be tested not only by demons, poachers, and a giant mutant ape, but by each other as well.</p><p>Meanwhile, a vagrant searches the forgotten corners of the world for vengeance. </p><p>Book 2 of 5</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Draco et Diaboli [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1007748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude: Yesterday was Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Book 2 lets gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo</p><p>This book is gonna have 2 acts and much more content than book 1. First act will focus on someone who's only been mentioned in passing. Second act will be about 9S and 2B. Hope you all enjoy this wild goddamn ride! I've got some exciting stuff lined up for this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>2B’s obsidian eyes pan back and forth across the entrance of the small cave she rests in. Any movement, even the twitching of a squirrel, has her head whipping back and forth. She curls her long, feathered body around a shivering soldier. The young man whom she had ripped from his home, whom she mated with, whom she killed innocent people for. Though innocent might be too strong a word for those who had condemned this boy for the crime of existence. They were bound to their duty. She couldn’t blame them for that; it wasn’t their fault that they were in her way. Yet for their crime of complacency in the face of injustice, she pushes the guilt from her mind.</p><p>She already has her burdens to bear.</p><p>A curious fawn receives the fright of its short life when it pokes its snout into the cave entrance only to come face to beak with 2B. She snarls at the little creature out of reflex and can’t help but feel a little bad when it bounds away to the comfort of its mother, (which bolts as soon as the fawn does) but she can’t be too careful. Not while those who lived are sure to seek revenge on the broken boy she now protects. The half demon scout, 9S.</p><p>It makes 2B’s blood boil thinking about what the people of Vigo had done to him. After saving their city, homes, and families, they had tortured him and sentenced him to death. If it hadn't been for the quick planning of Jackass the lieutenant, he would be dead. His head would have hung from the city gates with the rest of the half-demons who had shared his fate.</p><p>This once proud and valiant soldier now lies curled into a pitiful ball tucked safely beneath her wings. He hisses or cries out in pain whenever his weeping burns or open wounds brush against the ground or 2B’s scales. It amazes her that 9S remains unconscious despite the agony he must be in.</p><p>9S’ arms wrap around his chest as shivers wrack his thin body, his nails puncturing several blisters on his shoulder. Clear, watery pus oozes from the burns that are already red and swollen from infection. Even though his demonic blood allows him to recover from injuries quicker than normal, the wounds he suffers now are too much for his powers to bear.</p><p>A low whine escapes 2B’s beak as she nudges his arms away from his body. With gentleness ill befitting a warrior she gently licks the burns and angry red gashes that mar his pale skin. In moments the redness fades from the smaller wounds, but the larger ones only seep more blood and pus after being cleaned. 9S whimpers as her rough tongue scrapes across the sensitive skin of his shoulder. The lightest brush of her feather beard against blisters makes him wince.</p><p>His eyes open slowly, fighting against the blood and crust that cake his eyelids shut. His sclera are red and irritated, much like his infected wounds. 9S’ golden eyes listlessly search for something to focus on, moving from 2B’s eyes, to her feathers, claws, and beak.</p><p>“T….Tw….2B?” he whispers, his voice straining from the pain.</p><p>She leans her snout into his hands, nuzzling into his touch as gently as she can.</p><p>His eyes fill with tears as he starts to shudder. “T-...Two-..Be...2B…..,” 9S sobs. He clings to her snout with frail arms.</p><p>2B shifts herself around so that her wings shield his body from the cold of the cave and lets out a warm huff of air over him. His whole body quakes as he sobs onto her muzzle, his soft whimpers echoing against the stone.</p><p>“I-...I thought you- I was so-... s-scared...I-I thought yo-u woud-n’t...T-that I was-s....”</p><p>2B lets out a low growl like her mother used to do when she was a nestling. The sound makes her body rumble, and though she has no idea if it helps 9S or not, his breathing does start to even out. His sobs quiet to the occasional hiccup and ragged breath as he clings to 2B like a frightened child.</p><p>Once 9S’ grip weakens 2B licks at his wounds again, testing to see if the pain is too much for him to bear. He doesn’t wince or cry when her tongue brushes against the weeping skin, so she continues until the bleeding stops.</p><p>“2B…” he says weakly.</p><p>She looks at him with pitch black eyes that betray little emotion, but a single warbling sound indicates her concern.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>2B presses the end of her beak against the unburnt parts of his chest and curls her tail around them both. She resumes her rumbling once 9S wraps his arms around her snout once again. He drifts off again, curled in the safety of 2B’s embrace. His breathing is still ragged, but softer and more even than before. She relaxes just a touch, confident that everything in the area got the hint to stay away from this cave.</p><p>Unfortunately the moment 2B relaxes enough to close her eyes something disturbs the pebbles near the cave entrance. She instinctively bares her teeth, but the only thing of concern is a pudgy raven. It studies 2B with inscrutable eyes before flying off in a flash of black feathers. Idly, she wonders if humans interpret this as an omen of good fortune as well. She’ll have to remember to ask 9S when he wakes next.</p><p>Her ears pick up the sounds of the raven’s distinctive quark, which alone gives her a strange sense of comfort, but the sounds that follow make her feathers stand on end. Footsteps. Two sets of footsteps. Someone praising the raven for finding their target quickly.</p><p>With as much gentleness as she can manage, 2B drags 9S to the back of the cave and obscures him as much as possible. She stands with her legs and wingarms far apart, using the large feathers on her wings to shroud 9S in shadows. Her beak opens slowly and a roar begins to rumble in her chest. The footsteps draw near and 2B digs her claws into the dirt. Her muscles tense, eyes narrow…</p><p>The moment the silhouettes of two humans approach the cave’s entrance 2B erupts forward, letting out the most intimidating hiss she can muster. She swipes her claws inches from the shadows and gnashes her teeth at them. It’s a threat display, but only a coatyl would understand the complex body language she puts forward. There's a very slim chance that these figures were her kind.</p><p>“Whoa whoa! 2B!” a figure yells, “2B, it’s me!”</p><p>That light, feminine voice is instantly familiar to her. 2B blinks rapidly to force her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Two women with blonde hair, one of whom has a raven perched on her arm, stand at the entrance of the cave. The shorter woman, who 2B now recognizes as her childhood friend 6O, boldly rushes forward once 2B visibly relaxes.</p><p>“You dumb bird!” 6O shouts as she throws her arms around 2B’s neck, “You almost bit me!”</p><p>2B bows her heavy head in shame as 6O frets over her.</p><p>“Are you hurt? You’re okay right? Didn’t get hit by any stray arrows?” she says while searching through as many of 2B’s feathers as she can reach.</p><p>“She’s fine.” 21O says, pushing past 2B and 6O. “Where is he?” Her cold, professional voice has the smallest waver to it.</p><p>With a low huff, 2B backs up and lifts up one of her wings to reveal the shivering body of 21O’s son.</p><p>“Oh gods…” she whispers with wide eyes that quickly fill with tears. All shreds of her stony facade fall by the wayside as she kneels beside 9S, cradling his head in her lap. “Oh, my boy… My baby boy, what have they done to you…” she sobs.</p><p>“M…” 9S whimpers, “Mom…” He curls into 21O, clinging to her like a frightened infant. “Mom...I was so scared...Mom…I th-thought I was gonna...”</p><p>“Ssshh...It’s okay,” 21O coos to her son, smoothing his bloodstained hair with a free hand. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe. No one can hurt you here.”</p><p>Both 2B and 6O back away from mother and son. Even 6O seems as uncomfortable as she and 2B watch someone so calm and composed sob so strongly. 2B bows her head low enough for 6O to place a comforting hand on top, both women feeling a small relief from the gesture.</p><p>They let 21O have her moment with her son, but after a tense few minutes 6O has to step forward. “21O?”</p><p>21O takes a shuddering breath, “Yes, right.” she says as she helps 9S sit up, “Don’t worry. 6O is going to help you. Everything is going to be okay.” She reluctantly shuffles, allowing 6O to bear some of 9S’ weight.</p><p>“Okay, put the blanket beneath him and help me lie him back down.” 6O commands.</p><p>2B shrinks back from the three of them. She’s only seen 6O go to work a few times in the past, but she recognizes the tone in her voice. If she didn’t know any better she would have thought that 21O and 6O had switched places. It frightens her in a strange way, being this useless. The most she can do is keep watch over the entrance of the cave.</p><p>9S hisses through his teeth when his back touches the blanket. Even the wool can’t soften the stones of the cave floor when they dig into his burnt skin. 21O</p><p>“Right,” 6O says with a quick sigh and begins emptying her bag of supplies and lying them out beside her, “first we need to clean, suture, and dress these larger lacerations. 21O I need you to mix these two plants into a salve while I clean him up.”</p><p>6O takes a thin, well-used rag, and wets it with some water from the skin on her hip. She goes over each cut, scrape, and infected wound methodically and intently, making sure each one is free of pus and blood before moving on to the next. There are some that give her pause and make her brows knit together in worry. Those look to be the deepest and most infected of the lot. Once mashed into the proper consistency, she instructs 21O to rub the salve over the smaller cuts.</p><p>9S sucks in a pained breath and his whole body tenses up as soon as the salve touches his open wounds. Just the fumes of the thick, oil-like plant matter make 2B’s eyes water. The memory of the salve on scrapes and cuts of her own is fresh enough in her mind; its acrid smell and agonizing sting burns in her mind just as it did on her body. It’s unfortunate that this concoction can only cleanse the wounds of infection and impurities, for all the pain it causes. The red, swollen wounds seem to boil the moment the salve makes contact, turning the skin a milky white color. 9S grits his teeth as the infections are burnt away by the salve.</p><p>Once the cloth is thoroughly soaked in blood and puss, 6O tosses it aside for bandages, a spool of thread, and a needle. She quickly sews the largest of 9S’ lacerations shut, apologizing each time he squirms and cries out when the needle pierces his skin.</p><p>“Keep still. You really don't want me to mess these up,” she says as 9S begins to squirm with discomfort. “They’re going to scar, but not as badly if you let me do this right. Don’t make me have to get 2B to hold you down.”</p><p>With deft hands 6O sews a zig-zag pattern into 9S, closing up the largest of his wounds within seconds. First the gash on his forehead left by a stone, then the broken stitches that still linger across his chest. She snaps her fingers at 21O, wordlessly commanding her friend to assist in properly dressing the wounds with clean, crisp bandages. The smaller cuts are cleaned and wrapped with the cloth bandages as well, but without being sewn shut. Splotches of blood ooze out and stain the dressings a dark red.</p><p>“Alright, help me flip him over.” 6O commands both 21O and 2B.</p><p>2B finds use, finally. She lowers her beak down to 9S, allowing him to grip onto her feathers while 6O and his mother maneuver him onto his stomach without putting too much strain on his body. All of them wince along with 9S when the burns on his back come into view.</p><p>What isn’t red and swollen is white and dead or shades of sickly green and purple. There are spots that swell into blisters full of clear pus and patches of skin scorched black. 2B swears she sees pieces of flesh crumble to ash as 6O brushes her fingers across his back.</p><p>“Gods...this is bad,” 6O mutters, “there’s parts that are infected already…”</p><p>“What can be done?” 21O asks, a noticeable waver in her voice.</p><p>“Plenty.” 6O’s eyes spark with determination.</p><p>2B can barely keep up with the instructions 6O passes to 21O. A slurry of plants, some of which ooze a thick clear liquid, and water are placed into a clay bowl. 21O dutifully grinds down the ingredients into a salve, never once taking her eyes off her son.</p><p>6O gently prods parts of 9S’ back, asking each time if he can feel anything. He whimpers a soft “yes” when she pokes the angry red portions, but the dark and white sections earn no response. 6O’s brow furrows, and though she doesn’t have the extensive knowledge 6O does, 2B knows what 9S’ reactions, or lack thereof, mean. The nerves in his shoulder are dead.</p><p>“Right…” 6O mutters, taking the bowl from 21O, “This will calm the infections and make you feel better but...there’s nothing I can do to keep this from scarring as bad as it will.”</p><p>A lump forms in 2B’s throat. She’s never seen scars as something to be ashamed of, or something that takes from a person’s attractiveness. Quite the contrary actually; in her younger days she found herself daydreaming about warriors flaunting scars of their past battles like trophies. This is different. This isn’t the memory of a victory, this is a brand of hate, one that he’ll carry for the rest of his life.</p><p>21O instructs her son to breath evenly through the pain as 6O massages the salve into the burns. Even 2B has to look away whenever a blister bursts open from the pressure, but 9S’ cries are something she can’t escape from. He buries his head in his mother’s embrace, trying to cry but not having the strength to do more than wheeze. A strange mixture of sadness and rage boils in 2B’s chest at the sight. She digs her talons into the dirt as if it will help.</p><p>It feels like hours to 2B till 6O finally scrapes the last of the salve out of her bowl. She can only imagine what it must be like for 9S, but she keeps silently repeating that it’s for the best. Better the agony now than a prolonged death later.</p><p>There’s a brief sigh of relief that crosses both 6O’s and 21O’s face once their task is done, but it vanishes in an instant. Their gaze settles on the injury of 9S’ that they have been dreading. His warped, twisted left leg. From his knee down, the leg bends to the right before it tapers off in a desperate attempt to correct itself. A section in the middle of his calf is red and swollen, but not alarmingly so. With her limited knowledge of medicine 2B isn’t sure exactly what is wrong, but she knows something is. Obviously legs aren’t supposed to bend like that outside of the knee.</p><p>6O’s eyes are fierce, but her hesitant hands betray her true thoughts. 21O covers her mouth with her hand, her grey-blue eyes beginning to water once again.</p><p>“Right…” 6O says, her gaze downcast as she searches through her pouch, eventually retrieving a small, white tablet out of a cloth bag. There’s a bit of embroidery on the bag that 2B can’t make out, aside from the letter ‘W’.</p><p>“Nines,” she places a hand on 9S’ good shoulder, “I need you to turn over and swallow this.”</p><p>With the help of 21O and 2B, 9S rolls over to his back. Before he has a chance to get his bearings again, 6O all but shoves the white tablet into his mouth followed by the spout of her waterskin. 9S sputters and chokes at the first few gulps but with trial and error manages to swallow a few mouthfuls of water, along with the medicine.</p><p>“It’s…” 9S coughs, “bitter…”</p><p>“Just lie back and relax. Let me know when your stomach starts to itch, okay?”</p><p>“ ‘Kay…” 9S obeys without questioning 6O’s strange instructions. His eyes loll from his mother, to 2B, and back again. 21O gently lifts his head and places it in her lap, taking one of his hands in both of hers. To 2B’s surprise, 9S buries the fingers of his free hand into her feathers. He clumsily grasps at them like a frightened cub, and 2B feels...something in her chest. A strange feeling she can’t quite place.</p><p>21O stifles a gasp, breaking 2B out of her thoughts. They watch as, to both their horror, 6O produces a smaller version of a carpenter’s saw from her bag.</p><p>“I… I’m sorry but…” 6O sighs as she touches 9S’ twisted leg, testing for something 2B can’t see, “His demon blood helps him recover from injuries a lot faster than a normal human.” She points to the gashes that she had sewn shut only minutes ago. “See? It takes days for a wound that size to produce scar tissue. But that means… when his leg was broken… it… the sped up healing made it set wrong.”</p><p>Sad green eyes betray the pain that her professional tone hides. “...I have to re-break his leg.”</p><p>Grim realization hits 2B worse than she expects. The tablets, the saw… She’s seen her fair share of violence, she’s killed men before, but this… It makes bile rise in her throat.</p><p>9S’ grip on her feathers tighten, though he pries his other hand away from his mother’s to scratch at his exposed stomach.</p><p>“21O,” 6O says, “Can you put the leather strap in his mouth for me?”</p><p>Wordlessly, 21O obeys. She wedges the thick leather between her son’s teeth, his bright golden eyes slowly moving from person to person. His chest rises and falls slower and slower, but his eyes remain open.</p><p>6O chews on her lower lip. “His body must be diluting the effects.”</p><p>“Is it safe for him to have more?” 21O asks.</p><p>“No, not with that high of a dosage...I…” Her grip on the saw’s handle tightens as she searches 9S’ leg for the source of the deformity. “We can’t wait any longer.”</p><p>2B grinds the tips of her beak together as 6O places the saw’s teeth against 9S’ soft, pale flesh. He doesn’t flinch at the touch of the cold metal. The first stroke of luck they’ve had all day. 2B lowers her head down onto 9S’ stomach, replacing his view of the coming mutilation with one sorrowful black eye. She likes to think there’s something grateful in his lazy, unfocused expression. Unfortunately, her other eye can see the moment the saw’s serrated blade cuts into his flesh.</p><p>The metal teeth easily carve through his skin. It only takes one push from 6O for the saw to tear into red cords of muscle and the thin, white layer of fat. 9S gasps, but 2B doesn’t hear pain in his breath. She can’t imagine the sensations he must be feeling, of having his leg carved into without the agony. A defiant hope soars in her chest, that maybe this won’t be as torturous for him--and her--as she thought.</p><p>6O pulls the saw back, dragging frayed muscle fibers with it. She pushes it forward, tearing through strings of connective fat. 9S winces and hisses through the leather strap, but he seems to handle it as if it were a moderate discomfort. Sometimes he closes his eyes for a moment or two, only for 6O to shift the saw blade in a way that jolts him awake.</p><p>Then, just as both doctor and patient were falling into a tense rhythm, the saw comes to a halt with a horrid cracking sound. 9S jolts upright, groaning in barely restrained agony. His teeth grind against the strap in his mouth as his eyes screw shut and his body spasms. 21O wraps her arms around her son’s body to keep him from thrashing too much.</p><p>The breaking bone sounds like a brittle twig being crushed over and over again. It takes all of 2B’s strength to keep her head still despite hearing and seeing small shards of bone fly out of 9S’ ruined leg. 21O fights back tears along with her son, and 6O remains as grim faced as any warrior 2B had ever seen. She has to shut her eyes to maintain her position, but the creaking and cracking, the groaning...It’s too much for her to watch.</p><p>A final deafening crack and 6O slumps forward suddenly. 9S lets out a long, awful noise that's muffled by the leather strap. Even still, it’s a sound that echoes against the cave walls, amplifying it to deafening levels.</p><p>And still 6O persists.</p><p>2B keeps her eyes shut, focusing on 9S’ labored breathing and 21O’s gentle ministrations. She tries not to listen to the sick noises the saw makes as it tears apart the space between his two leg bones. She tries not to hear the awful grinding the teeth make against the second bone, or the way 9S sobs sound so tired and empty now. The worst is the fact that there’s nothing she can do but hold her head there and obscure the view from him. There’s no demon to throw herself in front of, no daring rescue. The damage has already been done, and all she can do is sit and hope that what she’s doing is enough.</p><p>Suddenly, with one last shifting of his body, it’s over. As soon as 2B hears the wet, sickening sound of fat and muscle being moved she opens her eyes. 6O withdraws the saw in one fluid motion and casts it onto the dirt. 9S’ jaw goes slack, his whole head goes slack. 21O holds him upright, gently slapping his face to keep him awake at least partially. She calls out his name whenever he starts to falter. 2B feels her heart thunder in her chest when she sees his eyes roll into the back of his head only for them to reappear seconds later. The next time it happens she shifts her head on his lap and nudges his chest with her beak as a small gesture of comfort (and so she doesn’t have to look at the inside of his bones).</p><p>His tired, golden eyes lock onto hers. Something unspoken passes between them, but what exactly that is escapes 2B. She never was good at understanding the complexities of human body language. There’s a desperation in his eyes, like a cub looking at a sweet fish they’re not allowed to have. A slight smile makes the corners of his lips quirk up before being replaced by pain warping his boyish features again. He groans through the leather strap, his fingers tugging at 2B’s feathers and crushing his mother’s hand.</p><p>“Almost done.” 6O reassures, “I’m putting your leg in a splint. A spell or two and it’ll be all over. You just have to stay awake a bit more.”</p><p>9S nods but keeps quiet aside from labored breathing.</p><p>Both of his hands find their way into 2B’s feathers, his fingers fumbling around with the roots weakly. He accidentally tugs too hard on a fistful, which earns him a low snarl that’s quickly suppressed before he can notice. 21O smooths down his untidy hair now that both her hands are free again. His platinum blonde hair is practically yellow with sweat and grime from his time in the dungeon. 2B can almost hear him complaining for a hot bath.</p><p>The cavern fills with a pale green light. 2B whips her head around and 9S whimpers at the sudden loss of her soft feathers. Everything is bathed in green as 6O begins chanting in an intricate, long dead tongue and shaking a bone chime. Her subtle tattoos glow with intensity, starting from her forearms suspended over 9S’ leg and spreading up to her face until her eyes are the same unearthly green.</p><p>A presence fills the cavern, one that both 6O and 2B sense, but only 6O can see. It’s old. Very old. It fills their tiny hideaway and coils around the four occupants like a vast serpent, but as thin as bones. The faint sound of creaking joints echoes in her ears whenever it moves. She feels its gaze shift from person, its unseen eyes lingering on 2B long enough to fill her with terror. It returns to its summoner as the green glow comes to a head. 6O places her illuminated hands on either side of the grisly incision.</p><p>Beneath the light, 2B watches as bone, sinew, and skin bridge the gap and knit 9S’ leg back together in the proper shape. Mysteries of anatomy unfold before 2B’s ignorant eyes, the finite details of bone marrow and muscle fibers, the intricate network of nerves that spark like lightning, the light jacket of fat that seals everything from the elements, the way his skin builds itself up in layers before capping in uneven scar tissue.</p><p>Once satisfied, 6O picks up the bone chime again and resumes her prayers to this entity. With a confident final shake the entity’s presence vanishes, leaving behind the faint scent of stale cinnamon in its wake. As the glow fades from her skin, so too does 6O’s energy. She falls to her hands, her breath heavy and ragged. She takes a deep breath and wipes away the sweat that drips from her forehead.</p><p>“Right...we’re done,” she says in between breaths.</p><p>With 21O’s help, 9S curls up against 2B’s flank, tucked safely under her wing. His eyes linger on 21O and 6O as the former bustles around picking up the rags and stray rocks from the ground as if this is her new home. 6O’s tired but firm hand on her shoulder makes her stop, and her shoulders drop. She retrieves something long wrapped in thin leathers from the entrance of the cave. When she brings it over to 9S who barely is able to keep his eyes open, the dull brass shaft of his spear is immediately recognizable. As the last piece of leather is pulled away, the blade of the spear glistens with a mirror shine. 2B can see herself in its milky silver reflection, but the moment 21O sets the spear close to her talons, she hisses and reels back from it.</p><p>“Ah…” 21O mutters, pulling the weapon away, “Siderite. My apologies.”</p><p>Though it has no smell, 2B swears the toxic metal stinks like death. Perhaps it's just the knowledge of how dangerous it is to her kind gives it an illusion of odor. Just a prick has the potential to kill her. How she hadn’t noticed this about 9S’ favored weapon, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she just hadn’t thought to inspect it, or maybe she had been too entranced by its wielder.</p><p>She gets up for a moment, just to move herself further away from the deadly metal, but 9S latches onto her feathers with frantic strength. She’s almost pulled back down to the cave floor. His eyes are wide with panic, his chest rising and falling rapidly with ragged wheezes. Somehow he looks more scared of her leaving than when 6O brought out the saw to mutilate his leg. With a reassuring huff, 2B settles back down next to him and covers his legs with her wings.</p><p>21O kneels down in front of 9S, taking his trembling hand in hers. “9S...Nines…” she mutters.</p><p>“Mom…?” 9S’ voice is hoarse, broken from the strain of the past few days.</p><p>“Listen very closely, 9S.” 21O forces her son’s fading focus onto her.</p><p>“Mom…” His head lolls to the side, “Mom remember that glove you had? The fancy falconry glove with all the beading on it? The one that got all messed up? That was me… I’m sorry. I used it to clean the latrines… ”</p><p>21O laughs a little, but it’s hollow and weak, “It’s okay, son. You were… gods, nine or ten.”</p><p>He hiccups, “I meant to tell you sooner… I was scared you’d be mad.”</p><p>“Shhh, don’t worry. It’s just an old glove.” she says with a reassuring smile. “You’ve destroyed far more than that. Remember what happened to your room when you were 13?” She and 6O can’t help but laugh at the way 9S tries to hide his face in 2B’s feathers.</p><p>9S pouts, but chuckles along with his mother after a moment, only stopping when he remembers that everything hurts. He looks up at 21O with wide, innocent eyes. “When can we...go home?” he asks.</p><p>21O winces. “You...you can’t.” She pauses to blink back the tears welling in her eyes, “They’re...The Senate is demanding every soldier submit a blood sample to be tested. They’re trying to root out any more half demons within the ranks.”</p><p>9S tries to sit up, but his waning strength only allows him to lean forward. “Wh-...but there’s-...so many…”</p><p>“Lieutenant Joanna is on top of it,” 6O interjects. “But...the city guard is going to be looking for you. And 2B. White… The Commander made the call to…” 6O lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh. “To discharge you.”</p><p>9S slumps back against 2B’s side, a pained breath escaping him. “I....What am I s-...What am I gonna do?”</p><p>The spark in 21O’s grey eyes returns ever so slightly. “There’s a place in the North. Far north. Past the Great Desert and The Old Bog. There’s a village of half demon and demon alike where all seek asylum from this endless war. My father resides there. It’s protected by a large demon named Pascal.”</p><p>2B stares at 21O, grateful that her current form hides her expression from her. From a very young age, 2B had been taught that the mountains far to the north were the domain of the Dragon God, the father of all dragons. It is a place that no demon should be able to approach, let alone live in.</p><p>So why is there a village of them in such a sacred place?</p><p>“You will be safe there,” 21O continues. “No one will know you, no one will be hunting for you. You will be safe, and when this war ends…” she trails off, biting her lower lip to keep from choking on her own words. “Perhaps we will see each other again…”</p><p>9S, under the influence of lingering pain and narcotic medicine, cannot contain his tears. “M-mom…” he sobs, “Mom, please…” His head droops, his whole body slumps against 2B as the medicine courses through his veins. He struggles to keep his eyes open even as 21O wraps her arms around her son.</p><p>Both 2B and 6O watch, unwilling to interrupt mother and son but unsure as to what to do. The sun’s first rays are beginning to peak out between the trees. Since 2B is not being used as a giant feather pillow, 6O busies herself with some bottles and pouches, setting them beside her.</p><p>“This is for Nines. Medicine to keep his wounds from getting infected while you’re traveling.” She pauses and looks 2B in the eye. “You are going with him...right?”</p><p>2B nods slowly so as not to disturb 9S or 21O.</p><p>6O sighs. “Good.” She runs her hands through the feathers on 2B’s snout. “Don’t be your usual birdbrain self out there… okay? Take care of him, and when you’re done… find A2.”</p><p>2B glances down at 9S, but nods again. A2 was the whole reason she had left her home in the first place, and though now she’ll be crossing the land with 9S, her original goal will remain the same.</p><p>She can’t imagine he’ll be thrilled about what that means for him, however.</p><p>Soft birdsong begins to filter into the cave. 6O puts a hand on her brokenhearted friend’s shoulder, “It’s almost dawn… 21O, we gotta go…”</p><p>21O can barely speak as she sobs into the barely lucid 9S, “Be strong. Be good. Nines… My baby boy…”</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Act 1: Erraverunt Chapter 1: The Exile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>Today would be better if you weren’t bound to a post and set ablaze, but we make the best with what we have</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-Coatyl idiom</em>
</p><hr/><p><br/>An antelope nimbly darts through the tall, amber grass. A pack of Savannah Drakes, feral dragons with sloped, hyena-like backs, chatter and howl as they chase after the fleeing beast. Though the Drakes are fast, the antelope keeps its delicate hooves just outside of the pack leader’s maw. Another Drake, this one a touch smaller than the leader, flanks the antelope. Its teeth scrape the skin of its haunch. The beast bleats in pain and kicks out its back leg as it leaps into the air, slamming the Drake in its jowls and sending it tumbling to the earth.</p><p>The Drake leader barks orders at its companions before darting ahead of the pack. Half of the Drakes swerve to the left of the antelope, and the other half to the right. They herd the antelope into a shallow valley, with only the leader behind it nipping at its heels. A Drake on the left ridge leaps down onto the antelope, its heavy claws digging into the antelope’s flesh. It bleats as it crumbles to the ground, but it gets back to its feet as quick as it can. The chase resumes, but the antelope slows as its injuries overcome it. The pack leader sinks its teeth into the antelope’s haunch, yet the beast’s tenacity allows it to tear itself away from the Drake. It bolts to the end of the valley, towards the edge of the acacia forest where it could safely lick its wounds.</p><p>It bounds out of the way of another bite from the leader-</p><p>The antelope is slammed into the ground by a great red plumed dragon diving from the sky at blinding speeds. Its back is snapped instantly, and as soon as they skid to a stop its neck is taken into the dragon’s beak. Their sharp beak easily rips apart the antelope’s neck, spilling its lifeblood onto the ground. Their teeth cut cleanly through veins and tendons, pulling red strands from the antelope’s neck. It struggles against the red plumed dragon, kicking and bleating weakly before going limp in their jaws. The dragon shakes their head, cleanly severing the antelope’s head from its body and swallowing it whole in one gulp, horns and all.</p><p>Before the dragon can lick the blood off their beak, the Drakes snarl at the intruder that stole their kill. The dragon crouches over the carcass, the claws on their wings digging into the earth. They gnash their beak at the Drakes that get too close or try to bite into the antelope’s flesh and drag it away. A massive swipe of the dragon’s tail sends a few Drakes flying backward after one tries to bite the dragon’s heel. They hiss and flash the brilliant crimson mane on the back of their neck. The Drakes back away as they take in the dragon’s new apparent size; even the leader backs down a touch.</p><p>Their obsidian eyes narrow, quickly darting from the other Drakes chattering with each other and the pack leader pawing at the dirt. It snorts and howls, then charges the dragon head-on. The dragon digs their talons into the carcass and leaps into the air with their prize. They beat their mighty red wings and take to the sky, soaring into the clouds within seconds, the carcass firmly in their grip. The Drakes yowl and scatter from the dragon, but quickly regroup and follow after them into the acacia forest.</p><hr/><p>A2 greatly prefers fish to game. Raw fish isn’t nearly as gamey and tough as something that runs around and snacks on plants all day. They wouldn’t complain though, at least not too much. They were close to a vast desert, they have to get used to the lack of fish, as well as the lack of food in general.</p><p>They lazily tear another strip of muscle and fat from the antelope carcass, careful to not let it lose balance and fall out of the tree they rest in. The Drakes they had stolen the kill from followed them all the way to the acacia tree they sit in now, yapping and chattering at each other. Sometimes one tries to scramble up the tree but falls flat on its back each time. A2 kicks their feet up on a branch and snickers at the dumb beasts, wondering how in the world how they and coatyls are both technically “dragons”.</p><p>The antelope’s blood dribbles down onto their shirt but it’s quickly cleaned up by A2’s finger. They pop it into their mouth not a moment later before digging the same hand back into the carcass for more. A2 has to move some of their long, not-quite pink but not-quite white hair out of the way of the carnage. Blood in their hair was hard to get out without dunking themselves in the water, and they were in no mood to be having a bath any time soon. Not that there were any bodies of water around that weren’t stagnant mud pools.</p><p>They slurp down the last bit of stringy muscle like a cub swallows a mouthful of worms before patting their stomach in satisfaction. The antelope might have tasted terrible but at least it was filling. They use one of the shattered leg bones to pick the scraps out of their teeth while the Drakes continue to yelp below. If they were to get any rest tonight, they’d have to get rid of those beasts somehow. With a sigh, A2 shoves the hollow antelope off of their branch to the hungry Drakes. Their fluffy tails wag with excitement as the pack leader shoves its way to the carcass and begins to drag it back to the den. A2 laughs bitterly to themself: even those ravenous beasts have a better sense of family than they did.</p><p>A stiff, cold breeze signals the onset of night. The blistering heat of the savannah fades into bracing cold. A2 grumbles and shuffles themself back into the crook of their tree for what little rest they could get. Hard knobs of wood dig against the grain of their thin scales. Though it’d be so much more comfortable to rest in their Coatyl form, one too many run-ins with poacher ambushes taught them the hard way that safety was a better choice than comfort. The trees kept them and their food from the curious night creatures, and their human form kept them safe from… well, humans.</p><p>A2 sighs, forcing their eyes to shut and body to relax before memories could flood in. They force themself to think of mundane things. How far will they fly tomorrow? What will the weather be like? It doesn’t smell like rain. Is it the dry season? What is it like back home?</p><p>They snarl, cursing their mind for making their thoughts drift that way. They let their fury out on the tree by throwing their fist at the trunk. The force loosens a few leaves and a seedpod and even causes their massive, black iron sword to wobble. It wouldn’t fall, not when it’s in its sheath and tied tightly around their flat chest. They can’t help but focus on the long, black feather that dangles from its hilt, and they can’t fight the icy claws of sorrow that tighten around their heart.</p><p>Looks like they wouldn’t be having a dreamless sleep after all.</p><p>They wipe the tear from their eye before it can fall. The time for tears had long since past, but the pain felt as fresh as the day he died. Their head throbs as memories flood back, their chest tightens and it becomes hard for them to breathe. Even the ground seems to shake beneath them with the ferocity of-</p><p>The ground really is shaking.</p><p>A2 bolts upright, gray eyes scanning the earth for dangers. At first, they think it's a stampede, but no grazing animals move in the night. It might be an earthquake, though no flocks of birds take wing in fear. Could it be something invisible? Their hand grips the pommel of their greatsword in preparation. They had faced demons that relied on tricks of the light to hide from sight before.</p><p>The downy feathers beneath their hair stand upright and a chill runs through their body. It isn’t the ground that’s shaking. It’s the air.</p><p>A deep, almost inaudible sound thrums on the wind, through the trees, through A2’s body. It makes their blood tremble and the golden grass of the savannah shiver as if there is a strong stormwind. They feel a great, unearthly power around them, but can’t see its source. They grit their teeth in frustration, a low growl escaping their throat.</p><p>Suddenly a great, bulbous shadow darkens the sky, its mass illuminated by veins of brilliant, unnatural green energy. At least twenty or so tentacles ripple like water as the creature floats through the sky, giving it the impression of an impossibly large jellyfish. A multitude of eyes the same shade as the energy that glow beneath its wretched skin flit back and forth, scanning the earth below for...something. Targets? Allies? Threats?</p><p>It didn’t matter to A2. All they knew is that the creature brought with it the unmistakably sweet scent of a demon, and a powerful one at that. Its sick, unnatural fruit-like stench fills A2 with hideous anger. Memories flood back, triggered by the scent as if they had happened moments ago. They snarl quietly to themself, forcing their anger down until the demon passes overhead.</p><p>In an instant, they leap into the air. Their form warps and twists in a bright flash of light, warping from human to Ccoatyl in the blink of an eye. Their mighty red wings beat against the wind, forcing it to do their bidding and send them into the sky. They ascend almost totally vertical, soaring straight into the clouds and higher than the amorphous demon.</p><p>They breathe in the fresh, cold air of the land beyond the clouds. The endless expanse of darkness and stars, the full moon hanging above with a stoic gentleness grounds them in a strange way. It reminds them of their sister, her white plumage as bright as the moon itself, her drive and uncompromising strength hiding just under her emotionless surface. She always was the favorite child, even after she chose the path of the executioner.</p><p>A2 was not their sister.</p><p>They pull their wings close to their body and plummet straight down to the earth. The wind stings in their eyes but they force them to remain open. Clouds, dust, and bugs rush past them until the outline of the demon comes into view. They flare their wings out and swoop upwards just before slamming into one of the demon’s rippling skin sacks. They search quickly for what seems to be the weakest point on its body, a fold between one of its bulbous growths right before its strange face.</p><p>Before the demon realizes what is hunting it, A2 buries their talons in its soft, jelly-like flesh. It lets out an unearthly piercing sound that echoes across the sky as A2 tears into its body with talon, beak, and claws. Its tendrils flail around them and try to curl around whatever they can reach. A2 furiously shreds at its eyes, its gaping mouth, whatever they can reach. They shriek and squawk as they destroy anything they touch, leaving nothing but ribbons of demonic flesh in their wake. Whenever they pierce a bubbling sack a gust of stagnant, foul air escapes with a hiss and the two gradually begin to descend to the earth. A2 weaves in between its tendrils, wildy striking and biting at any mass of flesh in hopes of it being another buoyant sack. If they can ground the demon it would be helpless.</p><p>Something wraps around their foot and yanks down, sending A2 careening down to earth. They right themself easily in the air and turn around for another assault. They roar, letting out all their rage and hate into one sound, but they stop short. The demon’s tentacles begin to pulse with the same vibrant green veins as its body, growing brighter and brighter at the tip to the point of it becoming a blinding white. A searing blast of energy shoots out from each of its countless tendrils, all but one sailing in various directions. Distracted by the multitude of colorful beams, A2 doesn’t see the one flying directly at them until it’s too late. Though they attempt to avoid it by soaring straight up, the beam hits them square in the chest.</p><p>The pain is so intense that it makes their whole world fade to black, only for the sensation of falling to shock them awake again. The scent of burning flesh and feathers assaults their senses, and a small trail of smoke rises from their chest as they fall. A2 beats their wings furiously in an attempt to slow their descent, but the effort puts intense strain on their wound. They struggle to glide on the wind, but the agony in their chest and hollow bones is too much for them to bear. They angle themself down towards the ground, hoping for a gentler landing.</p><p>A2 slams into the ground, dirt erupting around them as they skid to a stop. They force themself back to their feet and beat their wings against the air. The force and their strength lift them off the ground, and for a moment they start to climb into the sky but the pain is too much and they collapse to the ground once more. With a hiss, they shift back into their human form. Once the light fades, they turn their furious gaze to the sky. The demon floats onward, tentacles writhing around itself and the wounds A2 inflicted on it.</p><p>They sneer at the demon and break into a run. The pain falls away, replaced by hate. They don’t even feel the rocks, branches, and bones that dig into their bare feet. If they couldn’t catch this thing in the air, they would run after it until they could fly again or until it landed. They wouldn’t pass up the chance to kill a demon like this, not one that was this high in its twisted little hierarchy.</p><p>Even as it disappears into the clouds of the night sky, A2 keeps running. They wouldn’t stop. They couldn’t stop.</p><p>It’s the only thing they live for anymore.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Humble Merchant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the sun sets on the quiet village on the edge of the desert, A2 staggers in with their head hanging low. The demon was long gone by now, high enough above the clouds to touch the stars. A2 had refused to stop chasing it, though, even after they lost sight of it. They had run in the direction it flew through the previous night, into the morning and all through the day until the scales on their feet had sloughed off. Their feet had stopped bleeding hours ago, and they didn’t want to think about how many blisters were on their heels.</p><p>What few villagers remain out and about pay them no mind. To those that live here they’re just another poor soul traveling alone in the desert. They had seen countless others like them, all wandering the ends of the earth looking for something. Safety, their families, vengeance. They wouldn’t find it, not like A2. They had a goal with a face that bled.</p><p>Only the moon watches as A2’s goal temporarily shifts to the well at the village center. Some strength returns to their legs with a source of water in sight. They idly recognize the sounds of adigated horses but pays them no mind. Those beasts of burden would give them a wide berth if they weren’t already being brought in for the night. A2 waits a yard or so away from the well while a young girl fetches a bucket of water for her family. She mutters a demure apology as they pass A2, the fear of this strange vagrant with a veritable mass of iron on their back clear in her voice.</p><p>A2 brushes past the girl without a second thought. They care nothing for what humans think of them, especially not now with the well only a few feet away. They all but sprint the final few strides and nearly drop the wooden bucket into the depths (not that it would have stopped them, they would have just jumped into the well itself). One agonizingly slow descent and return later, A2 upends the bucket over their head and greedily swallows as much water as they can. Most of it runs down their face, drenching their clothes and hair. They sputter and cough as they accidentally inhale some of the cool water, but it fails to stop them from fighting through their screaming lungs. The relief of water running down their dry throat is far greater than the pain of water in their lungs.</p><p>After drinking their fill of several buckets, A2 collapses against the cool sandstone well gasping for air. The exhaustion they had suppressed all day long creeps into their muscles and bones. Their entire body begins to feel impossibly heavy; even their eyelids refuse to remain open for more than a moment. They lay their head on the lip of the well and curl their arms and legs into themself. Their greatsword is in their hands, their fingers curled around the hit. They could rest their eyes for a moment or two.</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>They awaken to something wet and fleshy tugging on their ruined shorts hem. A2’s eyes snap open to see a horrid long- snouted creature gnawing at the roughspun fabric with its malleable lips and huge, flat teeth. They throw a wild, barely awake fist into the monster’s nose and scramble away from the reeling beast. It snorts and roars, rearing back on its hind legs and kicking out its front at A2 who narrowly avoids the flailing hooves. They reach for their greatsword to fell the disgusting beast with one strike-</p><p>“Hold on!! Stop, please!” a young, boyish voice cries out.</p><p>A2 blinks, suddenly aware of what is going on in the waking world.</p><p>An irritated grey mare stands above them, pawing at the ground with one hoof. Her black eyes watch them with murderous intent, her ears flat back against her skull. On her back are merchant bags laden with goods and saddlebags filled with supplies. The mare’s black mane and tail shine in the morning sun, evident of the owner's care for the beast. Between her and A2 stands a child that couldn’t be older than thirteen; with his arms outstretched. Not a single patch of his body is uncovered, save for his piercing purple eyes. What isn’t covered by decorative, yet faded green robes with intricate gold embroidery is completely wrapped in crisp, white bandages. A2 stares at the boy (or what they assume to be a boy) unsure of how to react or to proceed. They should probably apologize for punching his horse, though.</p><p>“She didn’t mean it,” he pleads. “She’s just curious, aren’t you, Halua?” He puts a hand on the horse’s snout, her mood instantly changing at her owner’s contact. The mare lets out a snort but is quickly placated with a handful of sweet grass.</p><p>“Uh...sorry for punching your horse,” A2 mutters, rubbing the back of their neck.</p><p>The bandaged boy waves his hand dismissively, “No harm done. I’m sorry she woke you up.” He stops and studies them for a moment and A2 swears they feel like he’s reading them like a child’s book. “You shouldn’t sleep in the sun for very long, you’ll burn up fast.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” they grumble, taking stock of their few belongings. “I don’t get sunburn.”</p><p>“Well you can still get heatstroke.” He continues to watch their every movement like a falcon. “You don’t look like you travel in the desert very often.”</p><p>A2 shoots the boy a glare. “...I don’t.”</p><p>“Where are you from?”</p><p>“South of here.”</p><p>“How far south?”</p><p>“Very.”</p><p>“Even past The Republic?”</p><p>“Do you do this to everyone?” they snap.</p><p>The boy shakes his head. “Just the ones I find interesting.”</p><p>“Well I’m very boring. Now leave me be.”</p><p>The boy scrutinizes them as they gather up their sword and brush the sand off themself. They feel a chill run down their spine as they feel his gaze pick them apart scale by scale.</p><p>“You have feathers and scales… You’re from far south… You’re a Coatyl!” he says excitedly. “I haven't seen a Coatyl since the SandStriders were hunted down!”</p><p>A2 stops in their tracks and has to stop themself from breaking the boy’s neck right then and there. They throw wild glances around their surroundings but the villagers going about their day pay no mind to the vagrant and the boy in robes. It dawns on them that they shouldn’t be afraid if these people know their true identity, they could just fly away or fight them off.</p><p>They sigh and glare at the boy again, “Yeah, I’m a Coatyl. I’m from the Southern Groves. Happy now?”</p><p>“What are you doing this far north?” He bounces on his heels. “Are you looking for someone? On a journey?” He claps his hands together, making a muffled but weirdly hollow sound. “Oh! I never introduced myself! My name is Emil, I’m a traveling merchant. You’ve already met my horse, Halua.”</p><p>They wave lazily. “A2.”</p><p>Emil bows, his robes ruffling in the hot wind. “Good morning A2!”</p><p>They grunt back at them and return to making sure nothing of theirs had gotten stolen in the night. With all of Emil’s chatter they had lost count of their dried meats.</p><p>“Where are you headed?” Emil asks.</p><p>Damnit, they lost count again. “North.”</p><p>They huff and forget about making sure every last scrap of meat is in place, it’s close enough for them to not worry about. Without saying anything to Emil, A2 rises to their feet and straps their sword to their back.</p><p>“Aw, are you leaving already?” If A2 could see his face he’d surely be pouting with that tone of voice.</p><p>A2 waves without looking back at him and begins their long trek through the desert-</p><p>A sharp, searing pain shoots across their chest. They double over and clutch at their shirt, wincing and hissing to themself as they scratch their burns by accident.</p><p>“Are you okay?!” Emil shouts and places his hands on their shoulders.</p><p>His fingers are...really thin. Is this kid starving? His knuckles feel like rocks, almost like he doesn’t have any muscles or fat.</p><p>“I’m fine.” A2 grunts, brushing his hands away from them. “Just winded.”</p><p>“How did you get that burn? It looks nasty…”</p><p>“None of your business, kid.” They snarl more aggressively than intended and feel terrible immediately after seeing Emil jump back in fear. “I’m fine. I don’t need charity from anyone. I can take care of myself.”</p><p>“But you won't survive in the desert if you can’t walk! Let me help you, please!” Emil begs, taking A2’s hands in his.</p><p>Jeez, this kid really is skinny. His hands feel like a skeleton’s.</p><p>They brush his hands off themself again. “Look, I said I don’t need help. The last thing I need is being indebted to someone I don’t know.”</p><p>“Can’t a person just be nice? Do I really have to want anything in return?” Emil challenges, putting his hands on his hips.</p><p>A2 scoffs and throws their hands up in defeat, “Whatever, I don’t have time to argue with you about this.” They brace their hand against their chest and start their long trek again. “Goodbye, kid-”</p><p>Their bare foot catches on a stone sticking out of the dirt and they crash face-first into the ground. They curl into themself, groaning as the burn on their chest flares up from the impact.</p><p>“Of all the shit luck…” A2 grumbles, bracing their hands against the dirt. “Cut me a break universe.”</p><p>“Well,” Emil says, “if you won’t let me help you, I’m taking you to my friend.”</p><p>With strength that makes A2 yelp, Emil scoops them up in his thin arms without any visible effort. “What?! Hey! Put me down!”</p><p>“She’ll make you work for your care so you won’t have to worry about debts!”</p><p>Emil dumps them into the wooden cart that’s tied to his horse and arranges an assortment of embroidered pillows around them. Everything happens so fast A2 can’t spit out any words of protest quickly enough. By the time they have something put together in their head, Emil is already on the horse’s back and urging her forward.</p><p>What the hell is this kid?</p><p>A2 wants to say so many things, most of them involving words not suitable for a kid his age, but all they can do is sit in the back of the cart being hauled off to gods know where with their mouth hanging open. They know they look like a startled bird and if they were on the other side of this situation they’d be laughing. At least the kid seems genuine, for better or worse.</p><p>“I’m sorry if I talk too much,” Emil says, looking over his shoulder. “I’ve been on the road for so long, I end up talking to Halua more than other people.” The mare snorts as if adding something to the conversation.</p><p>“That’s nice, kid,” A2 grunts. They toss the pillows off to the side and curl up against the crates that share the back of Emil’s cart. Those soft feather pillows are too cushy for them to sleep in.</p><p>“I don’t remember if I said this before, but I haven’t seen a Coatyl in a long time!” he continues. “There used to be a few clans of SandStriders out here, but poachers wiped them out. It was pretty common to use Coatyl parts as medicines for all kinds of ailments.”</p><p>A2 grunts in response and closes their eyes. They feel like they should be offended about him talking about the butchering of their kind for snake oil medicines, but they had never heard of the SandStriders outside of old cautionary tales told to cubs or...history books.</p><p>Their eyes snap open.</p><p>“So I’ve never seen a sword like that before,” Emil says, reaching behind him and fiddling with the charm on the end. “Or a feather that big. What’s it from? Another Coatyl? I’ve never seen a black one before.”</p><p>“Shut up,” A2 snaps. “Enough with the questions already.”</p><p>Emil winces. “Sorry… “</p><p>The moment he stops talking, A2 wishes he would keep going. Being left alone with their thoughts, especially thoughts tied to the black feather, was something they didn’t want unless they had some demons to slaughter. Or at least some fermented berries to eat.</p><p>“If you wanna ask me some questions too… It’d be an even trade,” Emil suggests.</p><p>A2 thinks for a moment. “...How old are you?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You mentioned you hadn’t seen Coatyls since the SandStriders got wiped out.” they say, “Those clans hadn’t been around for centuries.”</p><p>Emil is quiet for a long time before he speaks again, “I just...remember hearing stories about them. Don’t worry about it too much.”</p><p>They both lapse into silence again, each of them unwilling to pry further into the other's business. After being alone for so long, A2 thought they’d be used to silence, but… maybe they’re more lonely than they thought.</p><p>“So…” Emil says, trying to break the silence once again, “how’d you get those burns? Uh-... Only if you’re okay with telling me!”</p><p>A2 sighs, “It’s fine, kid.” They let their fingers trace the spots where skin pokes through thin scales. “Demon I was hunting got one good shot in.”</p><p>“What kind of demon?”</p><p>“Big one that flies.” A2 sits up, finally interested in talking to the merchant boy. “Lots of tentacles, green lasers. Looks like a big ugly jellyfish. Dunno what it’s called.”</p><p>Emil whips around, eyes wide with shock. “Hegel?! You took on Hegel alone?”</p><p>“...Yeah?” A2 tilts their head to the side. Sure, they took a bad hit, but they didn’t think the demon was anything other than an annoyance at worst.</p><p>Emil studies A2 again. They’re starting to really hate this weird habit of his.</p><p>“What are you doing fighting demons like that?” There’s real concern in his voice. It’s disarming in a way A2 doesn’t expect.</p><p>They lean back against the wooden crates and twist the black feather around in their fingers.</p><p>“They took something important from me. I’m going to kill every last one of them.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Witch's Cave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A2 had no idea how they fell asleep in the back of a carriage on a bumpy dirt road. Maybe Emil’s voice really did put them to sleep, because he was still chatting away to the horse when they woke up. Judging by the sun bearing down on them, it was about midday. They knick a wide brimmed straw hat from one of the piles of goods in the cart with them to mitigate some of the light. It’s serviceable, but they still shift so that they’re looking away from the sun.</p><p>In the time that they were asleep, Emil must have pushed his horse hard. The vast expanse of sand and arid savannah are replaced by great towering mesas and breathtaking canyons. Bands of clay and stone of varying colors tell the story of the earth itself and conceal its ancient secrets. Growing up in a lush forest, A2 only heard about these kinds of landscapes in fantastical stories told to them as a cub, and now they were in the middle of a legend themselves.</p><p>Emil guides Halua and the cart down a narrow canyon path. One side is a horrifying sheer drop into the river below, the other a vertical wall of rock. A2 braces their arms against the crates each time the cart wobbles or bumps over a rock. They want to shout at Emil to be more careful, but terror seizes their words in their throat. Somewhere in the back of their mind they find it funny that they regularly face off against horrors from another dimension, but a drop they could easily mitigate by flying terrifies them.</p><p>“You not a fan of heights?” Emil asks, looking back at them.</p><p>Gods, was this kid psychic?!</p><p>“I’m fine,” A2 snaps, shuffling back down into their makeshift nest. “We almost to your friend’s place?”</p><p>“Sure are!” he says, excitement clear in his voice. “Her house is just at the bottom of the canyon. We should be there in a few minutes.”</p><p>A2 scowls. Someone who lives in a place surrounded by walls of earth far from civilization of any kind always has something to hide, and someone with something to hide isn’t trustworthy. At least Emil wears his intentions on his sleeves, but this new person hasn’t even been named or described beyond Emil claiming that she’s his friend. The disarming quality of Emil could all be a setup.</p><p>They grip the hilt of their sword as soon as the cart comes to a stop.</p><p>Somehow, in an area that sees little to no rainfall, a grove of trees and lush grass grows at the bottom of this canyon. Maybe the constant water from the river and shade from oppressive sun makes living more manageable for plant life. Or maybe… It’s something else.</p><p>“I’ll be right back!” Emil announces. “I’m going to let her know she has company besides me. She’s not keen on strangers without warning.”</p><p>Then why bring me out here at all?! A2 thinks and grips their sword even tighter.</p><p>Emil hops out of the cart, gives Halua a pat on the snout, and strides into the grove with confidence. The crueler side of A2 wants Emil to turn and run screaming out of the trees just to prove their own paranoia right, but they can’t bring themself to wish harm on the kid. Not yet anyway.</p><p>Never one to sit idle (and never one to sit idle next to a horse of all things) A2 meanders off to a small pond nearby. It looks to be the end of the canyon river’s offshoot and probably contributes to the strange plant growth in the area. Murky, scummy water like this yields little to no hidden snacks in A2’s experience, but every so often they’ll find a large fish ruling the pond. They crouch in the mud and watch the water’s surface for the little shadows of insects or other water-dwelling critters. A few tiny mosquitoes and flies buzz around the stagnant water’s surface, but aside from those not much lives in the pond.</p><p>A large shadow darts across the scum-covered pond. A2’s hand shoots out on instinct, their claws primed and ready to tear through the flesh of an unsuspecting fish. Instead, their hand sinks into wet clay. They grunt in dismay, but the desperate wiggling of a terrified grub catches their attention. They curl their fingers with lighting speed and yank their arm back to examine their prize. The grub is about the size of their thumb and thrashes around with surprising vigor. Its slimy, mud-covered body is gulped down without a second thought. Grubs aren’t the tastiest, but it suffices.</p><p>Another shadow passes over A2 and the pond. Their eyes dart across the surface of the water, the instincts of a predator taking over. They watch for the smallest movements, any sign of life within the pond. Again, nothing stirs. Even the flies are gone.</p><p>A chill runs down their spine. The feathers beneath their hair stand on end. Someone is nearby. Someone is watching them.</p><p>The unnatural rustling of leaves makes A2 leap to their feet; just in time to see a boulder the size of Halua hurtling towards them. They dive out of the way as the rock slams into the pond, sending stagnant water flying out in all directions. A2 grabs their sword from the back of Emil’s cart as quick as they can as Halua snorts and paws at the dirt nervously.</p><p>A second boulder crashes to the ground next to them. This time A2 sees their assailant step out from the shadows to take advantage of their weakness. A woman, lanky and covered head to toe in filthy yellowed bandages, squares her shoulders at A2. A loose sky blue robe barely covers her body as it billows gently in the wind. In her hands she grips two identical black swords that curve wickedly, their jagged teeth glinting in the sunlight. Despite the size of their sword, A2 suddenly feels wildly outmatched in terms of raw weaponry. How have they never thought of carving teeth into this mass of iron before?</p><p>“Who are you?” the stranger asks in a calm yet clearly threatening voice. “What are you doing at my home?”</p><p>A2 opens their mouth to explain, but the woman looks at the agitated Halua and Emil’s cart. Her eyes widen when she realizes that Emil is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>“What have you done with him?!” she bellows, shifting into a crouching battle stance.</p><p>A2 hoists their own sword up, pointing it at the bandaged woman. “Nothing. He brought me here.”</p><p>She looks down at them, a sneer twisting her sharp features. “Bullshit,” she spits. “What the fuck did you do to him?!”</p><p>Before A2 can begin to explain anything, the woman leaps into a brutal attack. She soars into the air and brings down both swords on the spot where A2 once stood. If they hadn’t moved, their head would have been crushed under the weight that splits the earth they stood on. A2 retaliates with a mighty swing of their own, but the cumbersome weight of the blade makes their effort slow. The woman easily backs out of the iron blade’s reach, then shifts her balance to strike at A2’s legs with her twin swords. Her first swing barely misses but the second sword’s teeth dig into the meat of their calf. On instinct, A2 jerks away from the pain, but the sudden movements cause more of their muscles to be shredded by the cruel iron.</p><p>A2 snarls and slams their first into the woman’s jaw with enough force to push her back a few inches. They shove the pommel of their sword into her gut, making her gasp as the wind is knocked out of her. With their free hand they reach for the woman’s hair to bash her head in with their own skull, but she throws her palm into A2’s throat. They force themself not to cough or gag, but they can’t stop the spit and wheeze that escapes their mouth.</p><p>The woman throws herself and her swords at A2, not letting them have any time to regain their breath. They throw up their iron sword, using its immense size as a shield to buy themself a moment to recover. Again, the woman hops backwards to prepare another assault, but this time A2 is ready. As she bolts forward, twin blades primed to strike, A2 tucks their head low and rushes into the woman, dragging the heavy blade behind them. Just before the clash, A2 channels all their strength into a powerful overhead swing. The burns on their chest and gash in their leg scream in pain at the initial exertion, but once the blade reaches its peak, gravity brings it down. The woman nimbly dodges to the side, which A2 expects. They swing their sword in the direction she moved, forcing her to back out of the blade’s massive reach.</p><p>“Stop!!” A voice calls out from the sidelines of the fight, “Kaine! A2! Stop fighting!”</p><p>A2 makes the mistake of looking over at Emil waving his arms to get their attention. The moment they drop their guard, the woman, apparently named Kaine, rushes at A2 with blinding speed. Reacting as fast as they can, A2 lays their blade flat on the ground and waits until Kaine makes the mistake of stepping on it. The moment her foot hits just beyond the tip (and the moment before her swords cut into the bruised flesh of their throat) A2 yanks the blade skyward. Kaine’s body flies upward, reaching an impressive height before crashing back to the earth with a few choice expletives. At great pain to themself, A2 corrects the sword’s upward momentum to slam it back down on Kaine, crushing her beneath the flat of the blade.</p><p>“A2!” Emil screams, “Please stop!!”</p><p>Both fighters ignore the boy’s pleas. Kaine spits at A2, who points the tip of their sword at her jugular. All they have to do is stab and the fight will be over. Suddenly Kaine’s arm shifts, and in an instant A2’s eyes and nose are filled with stinging dirt. They stumble backwards, quickly trying to dig the tiny stones out of their face before Kaine can recover, but it’s too late. A2 blindly cowers behind their sword as Kaine repeatedly slams against it. They may be strong, but a continued assault like this will break their guard. The most they can do in the few seconds they have is blink away the dirt in their eyes and wait for an opening.</p><p>“Kaine! No!!”</p><p>A2 strains their body to jump backward out of range of Kaine’s swords while still keeping her in their range. Having seen each other’s brute strength, the clash devolves into one person trying to bait the other into revealing an opening to strike a single fatal blow. All A2 has to do is hit her once. Their blade is about the size of her body; one good strike is all it would take to break a few of her bones. However, Kaine aims for A2’s chest and legs, large targets that would cripple or kill them. Both focus entirely on the other, deaf to all but the blood thundering in their ears. For A2, their dance of brutality can only last as long as their body does. Their injuries make their movements slow and sluggish as they fight against two opponents, Kaine and the pain of untreated wounds.</p><p>Kaine shows no signs of slowing down as they rush in close after A2 misses another crushing overhead strike. They brace themself for what might be the final assault-</p><p>“ENOUGH!!” Emil shouts, his voice booming with unexpected power.</p><p>In a flash of movement the boy in bandages appears between A2 and Kaine, his arms outstretched, palms facing either combatant. A great blast of invisible force slams into them like a solid wall and sends both them and Kaine flying back several feet. A2 crashes to the ground, their sword flying uselessly away from them. They shake off the twisted feeling in their gut and stare at Emil, mouth agape.</p><p>What the hell is this kid?!</p><p>“Kaine!” Emil yells. “Would you just listen to me?!”</p><p>Kaine sits up and grumbles to herself. “Urh… Fuck’s sake, Emil. That hurts…”</p><p>“I brought A2 here,” he says, helping them to their feet first. “I found her-”</p><p>“Not a girl,” A2 interrupts.</p><p>“-In town this morning passed out by the well.”</p><p>Kaine scoffs as Emil offers his thin hand to her. “You’ve got to stop bringing wounded vagrants back here just ‘cause they tell you a shitty sob story.”</p><p>“She-... A2 wouldn’t let me help them for free. They can work off their debt in exchange for medicine and a place to rest.”</p><p>A2 watches in silence as Emil speaks for them. Typically A2 would rather speak for themself but they’d rather not risk saying the wrong thing in front of either Kaine or Emil. Before the fight their attitude might have been different, but now with all these new injuries, keeping their mouth shut is the better option.</p><p>Kaine glares at them over Emil’s shoulder, her dark eyes scrutinizing their ragged appearance and battle-scarred body. “...Fine. They can work.”</p><p>Emil sighs in relief and slips right back into his chatty habits. He all but bounces around his friend as she walks towards the entrance to her cave, regaling her with how he came across A2 and his other adventures. A2 stands in place, mesmerized by how these two wildly different people could get along so well.</p><p>Kaine looks back at them, a bored expression on her face. “Are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand outside all day?”</p><p>They nod, grab their sword, and follow her without another word.</p><p>The interior of the cave is about what A2 expects. A dank, winding path carved into the earth, lit only by a few torches burnt to embers. Several species of cave-dwelling plants are hung in pots that dangle beneath stalactites dripping a constant supply of water. As soon as A2 begins to suspect Kaine to be an insane cave hermit, they round a corner and enter a sunlit hole in the ground covered with lush vegetation and complete with a small hut made of chunks of wood. Animal skins sit in the sun, stretched out on tanning racks next to discarded crates of odd treasures A2 has no name for. Some of them look like outdated tools, others are strange gemstones or rocks. There’s even a statue of a forgotten god or two in the garbage.</p><p>Kaine fiddles with the locks on the hut’s door. Most of them are simple metal locks, but some of them have intricate runes that glow a bright purple when she waves her hand over them. A2 hopes all this security is only a desire to be left alone and not an attempt to hide something sinister. Then again, if it were the latter, A2 would be dead before they saw the hut.</p><p>The hut’s interior is cluttered with even more garbage. There’s barely enough room for the three of them to walk around. Kaine takes them through the kitchen first, and A2 is assaulted by the strong scents of spices and preservatives. Countless bundles of dried plants and meats hang by the window above jars of… things… stewing in opaque yellow liquids. Eyes, lizard feet, tongues and organs, even whole newts sit in a strange method of organization. Even more curious than this are the beautiful white flowers that glow in the dim light. They reach out to touch one, their finger brushing one of the petals, which stops glowing in response only to resume the moment they remove their touch.</p><p>“You can sleep in here,” Kaine says, pointing to a small room with only a cot against the wall. “Go ahead and settle in. I gotta talk to Emil for a second.”</p><p>A2 shuffles into the room, trying to keep their sword out of the way of Kaine and Emil. Only once the door shuts behind the two does A2 relax at all. They can’t place it now, but something about those two seems off. Their smell is wrong, not like anything they’ve smelled before. In fact, the whole hut smells the same, like the old books that sat with yellowing pages. Or like a pile of salt. Or perhaps both. Emil at least had the decency to try to cover it with herbs and spices, but Kaine seems the type to not take care of herself if she doesn’t have company.</p><p>They look at another discarded leather-bound book, its pages worn far past yellow and into brown.</p><p>Old, A2 realizes. They smell old.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Salt Statues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A2 comes to the realization that they hate sand. It’s gritty, nasty, it gets into their clothes every time the wind blows. The sun reflects off the dunes and into their eyes without fail, constantly blinding them. Most heinous of all the sand’s sins is the fact that it’s practically boiling in the midday sun and burning the bottom of their feet. For a brief moment, they consider wearing shoes of some kind. Instead they resolve to bitch at Kaine for sending them out here, looking for salt of all things, as part of their repayment.</p><p>The witch’s ability to mend A2’s injuries was far more than they had expected. Within a couple of days the wound left by Hegel’s energy blast had been reduced from a searing pain to a dull throb. All the bruises, cuts, and cracked bones they hadn’t known about were patched together with skilled, but brittle hands. When she wasn’t flying at A2 with two wicked swords, Kaine seemed like an unassuming old woman. Her hands shook when pouring tea; she couldn’t stand up for very long without complaining about her back. She would look out of the windows of her hut wistfully from time to time, her sunken purple eyes betraying an age beyond what her body could present.</p><p>That, and Kaine had all the ornery fury of an elder from back home. If “respect your elders” hadn’t been drilled into their being from the day they were born, A2 would have told the old witch to shove it. But A2 can’t in good conscience refuse someone far older than them, and someone who is giving them food, shelter, and medicine.</p><p>So they trudge through the scorching desert looking for ancient brickwork jutting out of the dunes. Kaine described these structures as easily spotted from a distance, the only splash of color for miles, but A2 has yet to see anything other than sand and sand.</p><p>Movement on a dune in the distance catches their attention. They instinctively reach for their sword’s hilt and crouch low to the ground. The heat of the sand burns their face and hands, but they grit their teeth and bear the pain to get the drop on whatever demon or predator could be lurking about in such an inhospitable place. They peek over the dune inch by inch, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Without any camouflage like foliage or rocks, their pinkish hair would attract the creature’s attention if they move too fast.</p><p>As their eyes adjust to the sunlight they can make out more than one humanoid figure, but just as their heart sinks they see at least three or four smaller ones stumbling through the sand to keep up with the rest of the group. Humans, a group of ten by their count, with what looks like everything they own strapped to their backs. Even the children carry heavy loads that make their legs buckle with each step. A woman catches one of the kids as they stumble down the dune and gives him a loving pat on the head before taking his hand in hers.</p><p>A2 debates on doing what they normally do when coming across rival vagrants, doing what earned them a bad reputation along their erratic path. It’s the kids in rags that gives them pause. Those children can’t be more than ten years old and they’re forced to suffer conditions like these.</p><p>So A2 lets them continue on. They have their own issues to deal with anyway.</p><p>With a frustrated sigh, A2 takes to the desert skies. They already did a sweep from the air before, but there isn’t any harm in trying again. Kaine won’t let them back into the hut if they don’t come back with her salt, after all.</p><p>Sure enough, the ruins they’re looking for were sitting right under their nose the whole time. Red brickwork like Kaine described juts out of the sand. It would be impossible to miss, that is, if A2 wasn’t stupid. They can’t believe they looked over the white spire of some kind of cathedral as many times as they did.</p><p>A2 lands on the ground next to the spire and the building it sits on, kicking up a cloud of sand with the beating of their wings. They screw their eyes shut and shake their head back and forth as they transform back to their human form to try and get the sand out of their eyes. When that doesn’t work they furiously rub their eyes with the back of their hand, and then their thumbs. That seems to do the trick, but they hiss when their eyes are still itchy. They huff quietly, resolving to blink the remaining particles away.</p><p>The ruins around them are unlike anything they’ve ever seen. Great walls of identical bricks emerge from the sand like the spines of a great beast submerged in the dunes. Spikes of rusted, corroded metals mark the remains of buildings that had their bricks striped away by sand and time. Whatever used to live here had a unique way of building. They were able to keep their buildings standing long after their people either died out or left the city to rot—though those people must not have been that amazing if they had all died anyway.</p><p>A2 rubs their face as they look around for… actually they don’t really know what they’re looking for. They’re supposed to be looking for salt, but where in this place would that be? All of the buildings that still have all four walls are filled with sand, or totally empty where parts are above ground. If they were going to have to dig for salt deposits, Kaine could have given them a damn shovel or something.</p><p>In the center of a cluster of ruins, a strange shape sticks out of the sand. It looks like a small pillar of marble, but that shouldn’t be possible considering how soft the rock is. The desert would have swallowed it long ago, but it stands in defiance of time or nature. A2 strides over to the little piece of marble to get a better look at it. As they close in, they see five appendages sticking out of the top. It looks like a hand reaching out for the sun, or cupping it in its hand. Maybe this was a statue of some kind?</p><p>They reach out and grab the statue’s hand, its sharp, crystalline edges digging into their palm. With a small tug the hand snaps of the arm. A2 staggers back, gasping and almost dropping the statue’s hand.</p><p>“What in the…”</p><p>A2 stares at the hand, at the desperate way its fingers curl into claws, at the subtle musculature in its palm and wrist, at the ripples on its fingertips…</p><p>“Th-... This is… “</p><p>With a dry gulp, they turn the hand over to look at where it broke off. Just as they dread, there’s bone, muscle, veins and tendons. The same thing is inside the remaining arm. A clean, but geometric break across the crystal faultlines, with minute anatomical detail rendered in salt. A2 even sees the marrow running through the center of the two arm bones. Their hands shake, barely able to place the piece of salt into the roughspun bag Kaine had loaned them.</p><p>They dig through the sand, uncovering more and more of the statue. The arm connects to a shoulder, the shoulder to a neck, and the neck to a twisted screaming face. Whoever this used to be was now a moment in time, frozen in the throes of pain and terror. The realization of what was happening is clear on the poor soul’s face as they reach for the heavens for help that will never come.</p><p>A2 takes a piece of the statue’s arm and its head, stuffing them both unceremoniously into the sack.</p><hr/><p>The contents of A2’s bag are emptied out onto the wooden table as Kaine looks on with little interest.</p><p>“What the hell is this?” they ask with venom lingering behind their words.</p><p>“Salt,” Kaine responds as she picks up and examines the hand A2 brought back.</p><p>“I know it’s salt,” A2 snaps. “Why is it shaped like a person?”</p><p>“Because it used to be one.”</p><p>A2 knew the answer when they found the statue at first, but hearing Kaine say it with the same indifference that she’d use when identifying an herb unnerves them to the point of silence.</p><p>“Wh… How?! What the hell did you send me to dig up?!”</p><p>Kaine sighs, her shoulders sagging as she shuffles over to a cabinet and produces a small wooden hammer and a glass jar before sitting at the table across from A2. She picks up the salt hand and eyes it with disinterest before setting it down in front of her.</p><p>“... They’re leftovers from an event that nearly destroyed the world. The Great Dying.”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“A sickness tore through the ancient civilizations that existed thousands of years ago. It turned the people who were infected by it into salt piece by piece until their whole body was nothing but a white statue.”</p><p>“That… “ A2 can only stare at Kaine with their mouth agape. It is the one thing that they actually remember from their history education. They guess only the stories of great atrocities and mass death could capture the attention of the rambunctious cub that only wanted to play with wooden swords.</p><p>“Those salt deposits out in the desert are what's left of that disaster,” Kaine says,</p><p>“What the fuck could you possibly want with salt made from people?” There’s no malice in A2’s voice, just simple curiosity and confusion.</p><p>She shrugs. “It’s good quality salt.”</p><p>With the force A2 saw the day they met her, Kaine slams the hammer into the table, shattering the hand into dozens of shards. Again and again she crushes the salt down into a powder, then brushes it into the jar.</p><p>A2 grimaces, “Yeah, but… It’s… people.”</p><p>Again, Kaine shrugs. “It sells well. People around these parts have always used things like this. I remember there was a town that mummified corpses in honey, then sold the honey as a cure for all kinds of diseases.”</p><p>“You’re joking.”</p><p>“Nope. I’m fucking serious,” Kaine says with a barking laugh, “You’d be amazed what people think will cure shit like limp dick and cholera. I’m old, I’ve seen some shit.”</p><p>A2 laughs along with her, albeit with a twinge of hesitation. They’ve eaten a lot of things, but they’ve always steered clear of consuming human flesh. But this isn’t flesh anymore, it’s salt. And the human has been dead for thousands of years. So…</p><p>A2 stops thinking about it too much.</p><p>“So, you sell this stuff?” they ask, twisting a salinified chunk in their fingers.</p><p>“Yeah, but some of it I keep for other shit. Some potions and salves have to use this stuff specifically. Regular salt doesn’t cut it. That and it makes some damn fine cured meats.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t talk about the dead like that… “ Emil says, setting his long overcoat on a hook.</p><p>A2 doesn’t think they’ll ever get used to seeing his body covered head to toe in bandages like that, but at least this time they don’t gawk at him like a fish gasping for air.</p><p>Kaine scoffs, “What are they gonna do, salt me to death?”</p><p>“You should know better than to speak ill of the dead. It’s bad luck!” Emil huffs, putting his hands on his hip bones.</p><p>“Well I guess that explains my whole life then,” She mutters bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest.</p><p>Silence passes between the three as what A2 brought back seems to fill the air with dread. Minutes tick by before Emil finally speaks.</p><p>“The Great Dying was horrible,” he says, his head hanging low. “One day everything was fine, but the next… It was like the whole world came crashing down in an instant. People tried to leave cities and towns to escape it but… You can’t outrun something like that.”</p><p>“You’re talking about it as if you were there,” A2 mutters.</p><p>He holds A2’s gaze with sad, lilac eyes. “People looked for something to blame. They hunted demons, dragons… each other. The Theocracy and their religion gained a lot of followers desperate for some sort of salvation or comfort.”</p><p>“That’s enough, Emil.” Kaine grunts and gathers up the chunks of salt. “What’s done is done. We can’t be burdened by the past our whole damn lives.”</p><p>A2’s chest tightens at those words, as if they were directed at them. Their eyes drift to their sword leaning against the wall and the black feather dangling from its hilt.</p><p><em>He’d</em> be ashamed of them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Rematch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter's art credit to me: I made dis</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If A2 were more inclined to study themself, they’d find it hilarious in a dark way that collecting the salinified remains of human beings with a witch and a skeletally thin boy with his ornery horse becomes a weekly chore. It’d be just a tad less horrible if said ornery horse would stop trying to bite their fingers off if they so much as looked at her the wrong way. Emil had to diffuse at least three fights between them and Halua on the way to the ruins. They’ve never seen a horse so attached to one person, but Halua seems to hate everyone besides Emil, who she constantly nuzzles up against begging for pats and sweet grass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the complaints toward the heat, horse, and sand, searching for salt statues with Kainè and Emil is much more tolerable. It’s easier for them to defile the remains of long-dead humans when they have someone to chat with. Kainè complains like a molting elder about anything that moves, but especially the sun. A2 has never heard that big bright ball be called so many slurs in so many languages, but they find themselves chucking at the witch’s disdain for it. Emil sings jaunty tunes he makes up on the spot as he gleefully fills and organizes bags of people salt onto Halua’s cart. Sometimes when Kainè isn’t looking he lets his horse have a pinch as a treat. Most of the time A2 lets Emil ramble on about whatever he likes, only occasionally stopping their work to embellish on a one word answer they shoot his way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However when the sun begins to set over the dunes and paints the sky a brilliant orange, A2 excuses themself to stretch their wings. They tell Kainè that they’re going to scout for anything weird, but the glare she gives them is telling enough. She knows why A2 wants to wander off, but she says nothing in the way of stopping them. Maybe they had done enough work to satisfy the old witch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A2 has another mission sent down by Kainè as well. They’re supposed to search out more of a similar kind of ruins as well as a certain kind of track. The ruins are simple enough to understand. The lingering brickwork and defiant spires are easy to spot so long as there weren’t any dunes or dust storms in the way, but the second thing that they’re supposed to look out for gives them pause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kaine described footprints. Large, five-toed footprints with scale imprints. A2 knows for certain that she wants them to be on the lookout for a dragon, but they had never heard of a dragon with a footprint like that. Or that large. Kaine made it sound like the prints were as big as their whole torso, but A2 doubts that there’s anything that big that’ll leave a footprint. The Hegel demon is the largest thing they’ve seen and that thing floats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Regardless of the chore they’ve been assigned, A2 is just happy to spread their wings without their chest hurting. Soaring over the expanse of sand on the hot desert winds brings a lightness to their body and mind that they hadn’t felt in a long time. It’s liberating in a way that makes them want to keep flying and see where the winds take them. They inhale lungs full of scorching air and push themselves straight into the bright blue sky. Once they reach the height where the air becomes cold, they tuck their wings into their body and allow themselves to free fall back to earth. The rush of the winds and sky around them makes their heart thunder against their hollow bones. Dust whips past them, their third eyelids doing all they can to protect their eyes from the outside world. Their blood sings through their veins, carrying liquid excitement and terror as they plummet. The moment they feel a rush of hot air they spread their wings out and swoop into a comfortable gliding position. The raw energy in their body causes a roar to break through their throat and echo out through the desert. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The raw freedom of the skies and the elation that comes with is in a moment replaced with sinking dread.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beyond the great dunes the size of mountains, something creates clouds of dust and sand. It swirls with powerful gusts of wind, forming a massive wall of infinitely small particles. It almost reaches to the sky and looms over a large portion of the desert like a slumbering beast. A2 doesn’t have much knowledge of desert weather, but they don’t think that dust storms like that are supposed to stay in one area. Judging by the directions of the winds, which blow back towards where Kaine and Emil are, the storm should have been on them about an hour ago. Something is either creating it, or keeping it there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly a great bulbous shape shoots out from the clouds of sand and into the sky. The rumbling bellow of Hegel rolls across the desert like thunder as the demon rises from the storm and into the air. Its tendrils slither and writhe across its body, no doubt clearing the dust and sand from its body. Puffs of hot air escape from its mouths, adding more sand to the quickly dissipating storm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The freedom that sang through A2’s chest is replaced by a burning fury. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They beat their wings with all the hate they can push through their muscles. Blood roars through their veins as the desert winds sting their eyes and throat.The grit their beak and teeth together, gnashing them in anticipation of sinking them into the soft flesh of the demon. Their claws ache for the feeling of its blood pouring over them as they tear the skin and muscles apart. With blistering speed they gain on Hegel as it lazily rises into the sky. The demon doesn’t seem to notice them until they’re close enough to smell it’s putrid breath. Its eyes lock onto A2, shrinking in fear the instant it recognizes them. A2 prepares for a blast of energy to come flying their way, but Hegel opens its maw and lets out a trumpeting bellow that rolls across the desert like thunder. It’s body undulates, thrusting itself into the distance at terrifying speeds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A2 puts all their power into chasing after Hegel. A familiar heat sings through their body, spurring their muscles to work harder than they thought possible, but Hegel proves just as fast despite its size. Each time A2 dives to attack with claws or beak, the demon simply moves out of the way with little effort. As frustrating as their aerial dance is, A2 gains on Hegel bit by bit. Their beak scrapes against its flesh though fails to hook into it. The demon squeals with terror and jets forward with all its might, putting several yards between them in one burst of speed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as they begin to gain on the demon once more, a great shadow passes over A2, something far larger than they expected to see in the desert. They beat their wings in a panicked attempt to avoid the shadow, forcing themself to stop mid-flight. The shadow shifts across the dunes faster than A2 can perceive, and a red shape that dwarfs them appears between them and the fleeing demon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A powerful gust of wind throws A2 off balance and sends them careening to the ground. They flail their body and beat their wings in a futile attempt to right themself but the ground rushes up to them much faster than they hoped. The sand erupts around them in a dense cloud that obscures the gargantuan thing that looms above them. All they can see is a shape with immense wings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one great flap, the creature blows the sand clouds away from A2, revealing a monster they had only heard of in fantastic stories told to them as a cub. Scales as red as blood, leathery wings that call the winds of a hurricane, and a sneer that drips with malice and venom. Its body, from long neck to whip-like tail, moves like a serpent or a lizard’s; undulating with each movement. Each of its four feet, which could be as big as A2, are tipped with wicked black claws on each of the five toes. Its evil orange eyes burn with the same kind of disdain that one would use towards an insect or rodent. Simply being near its body makes the air searing hot to the point where A2 thinks their feathers would catch fire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cease, </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>fowl</em>
  </b>
  <span>,” the beast snarls in a voice that rumbles like thunder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A2 is never one to flinch from anything, but they find themself cowering into the ground at the monster’s words. They press themself to the ground in a submissive pose, though their feathers still flare out in a display of aggression and warning. Whatever good that will do. If this thing wanted them dead, all it would have to do is breathe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The red beast snorts a small jet of flames and holds its head high above them, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pitiful. How dare your species call yourselves dragons.” </span>
  </em>
  <span> It beats its great crimson wings and ascends into the sky. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fool that you are to attack beings greater than yourself. I extend this warning out of contempt, not kinship or kindness. Cease, or be erased.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And just as fast as the monster appears it takes to the skies once more and soars westward, vanishing into the afternoon sun. It is only after it disappears that A2 realizes they’re shivering so much that some of their loose feathers fall to the ground. Their heart threatens to burst from their chest, and their lungs strain with rapid, uneven breaths. It’s only the sight of Hegel in the distance that snaps them out of their fear induced daze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the threat veiled as a warning, A2 can’t fight the instincts that push them to their feet once again. They’d probably never get a chance to kill the demon that something that powerful protects, for what reason they don’t care. It takes all their self control not to fly after Hegel out of pure spite for the red beast, but instead they start in the direction they came from, back towards Emil and Kainè.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve never flown as fast in their life. The ruins come into view within moments; they can even see Emil waving his hands to try and get their attention. Kaine stands at the top of one of the spires, balancing only on the balls of her feet. A2 can see the scowl she throws their way as they pass her. They all but crash into the sand, kicking up more clouds of dust as they transform.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A2!” Emil shouts as he runs up to her, “Are you okay?! Did he hurt you?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment they land, Emil is on them. He checks them for cuts, burns, broken bones, any kind of injury he can find. They don’t have the energy to swat his arms away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No…” They let out a few quick, ragged breaths. “I’m okay…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kaine hops down from her perch and approaches the two with a scowl clear on her face. Part of A2 wants to snap at her before she can chew them out for being stupid, but they’re so damn tired after that sprint flight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What… What was that thing?” they ask, not giving Kaine the chance to launch into her scolding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kaine huffs, “A big ugly bastard.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A2 glares at Kaine and opens their mouth to say something only for Emil to shake his head at them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was Grigori,” he says. “A true dragon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emil’s words send a shiver down A2’s spine. They had heard of creatures like that before, but only in Elder’s tales made to scare cubs into listening to their parents. Even after seeing the wide variety of demons and monsters that lurk in the world, they never imagined something as terrifying a true dragon could actually exist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I knew he’d wake up sooner or later,” Kaine grumbles, “Asshole always looking to stir shit up or burn down a few cities for shits and giggles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emil shoots the old witch a glare but decides not to say what was on the tip of his tongue (if he has one. A2 still isn’t sure).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should head back home just in case the big red bastard is looking for a snack,” Kaine mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But when A2 stands back from the duo, recognition flashes across Kaine’s face. There’s the same kind of determination, the sorrowful desperation that only a person with nothing to lose has. She says nothing as Emil looks back and forth between the two of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A-...A2 are you coming?” he asks, but the tone in his voice suggests he already knows the answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” they say, shaking their head, “I was chasing Hegel before that… before Grigori showed up. I’m not letting it get away again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emil starts to tell them what a dangerous and terrible idea that is, that it’s far too dangerous for them to go in their condition, that they need to stay and recover all their strength; but A2 tunes him out to the point where he’s nothing but muttering noises. It’s Kaine that holds their attention instead. There’s a sadness in her violet eyes hidden, behind a scowl. Yet she remains silent as Emil pleads for them to stay for just a little longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” they say, turning back to Emil, “But… I guess I don’t really care if it’s dangerous or not. I’m going to kill every demon I can find.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emil is stunned into silence. He casts his eyes to the ground and for a moment A2 almost feels bad enough to apologize and stay with him and Kaine. But their mind drifts back to the black feather that hangs off the pommel of their sword and the pit of sorrow and hatred opens up in their stomach once again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A long bout of silence stretches on between the three before Kaine finally speaks up. “Well, get going then. If you wait any longer you’ll lose it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emil frets with his sleeves but keeps to himself. With a quiet sigh A2 saunters over to say a quick goodbye to the kid, but once they’re close enough he lunges forward and wraps his arms around her in a tight, bony hug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll miss you.” he mutters, and A2 can’t stop themself from reciprocating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… Thank you for everything. Take care, kid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Bog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A2 has never flown this fast in all their life. A horrible blistering wind whips behind the gelatinous demon that soars ahead of them. No longer the searing heat of the desert (they lost track of when the terrain changed from sand to swamp), it stings their eyes even through their second eyelids, but that is of little concern to them now. All they want is to sink their teeth into Hegel's flesh and spill its tainted blood onto the earth. They push their body to its limit, each wingbeat pushing them as far and as fast as possible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The demon employs all manner of foul defenses to keep A2 from reaching it. Whenever they close in, it expels a burst of air that threatens to knock them out of the sky. Each time they maneuver in place for a dive, it either lashes out with one of its tentacles or fires off energy beams at them. Though the wound has since healed, the phantom sting of burnt flesh is strong. They’d rather swerve out of the way and be set back than suffer that again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That changes once they manage to tear at Hegel’s flesh with a talon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The moment they feel their claws pierce the demon’s skin something snaps within them. Fury and hate consume their body and sings through their blood. Their muscles scream against the surge of raw power that courses through them. They put all their energy into a frantic burst of speed, closing the gap between them and Hegel. A flurry of panicked blasts of energy singe their wings and scales, but the pain fails to stop them. In fact, the more their body begs for them to stop, the harder they push themself. The pain fuels the bloodlust in a violent feedback loop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a burst of speed A2 closes the last few feet between them and Hegel. They don’t slow down, not even when they make contact with the demon’s flesh. Their beak pierces through the skin of one of its bulbous sacks, their whole head sinking inside. A rush of foul air escapes through the tears A2 leaves with their teeth and claws. It stings at their eyes and makes their stomach turn violently, but still they persist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They wrench their head free from the deflating sack of air as the demon screams. It begins to sink in the sky, having lost some of its buoyancy. Good, they’re on their way to grounding the demon, but it’s not enough. Not even close. They need to make this thing bleed. A2 claws their way to another sack of air and sinks their teeth into it before Hegel can recover from the first impact. A strip of the membranous tissue remains stuck in their beak, a small bit the demon’s blood dripping down their throat. It tastes sickly sweet, like overripe fruits.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hegel bellows, a horrid sound that shakes A2 to their core. The sound itself seems to make the wind tremble. If it weren’t for this hysteric strength A2 wouldn’t have been able to hold onto the demon. Its tentacles whip and slap at them as much as it can, but only the tips can reach them for now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither A2 nor Hegel notice the fast approaching treeline till the demon crashes into the canopy of mangrove trees. Both launch forward into the mass of vegetation and dead branches. Disoriented, A2 throws their wings and legs out to slow their fall but the world spins around them. They can’t see anything beyond blurs of green and brown. Occasionally their claws will rake against the bark of a branch or trunk but the speed of their fall rips them from the tree.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A splash reaches their ears just before they hit the surface of a stagnant pool of water. They thrash against everything, the vines and roots, the mud, the water itself, and their own body, to breach the surface. The moment they do they inhale as much as they can, but only gulp down mouthfuls of mud and water. Their claws catch on a thick bundle of roots and pull themself up out of the muck. It sticks to their feathers, pressing them down against their skin. They shake themself off as quickly as they can and scratch the grime from their eyes so they can get their bearings. Trees, water, lots of hanging vegetation, and the bulbous mass of Hegel rising out of the murk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a roar, A2 launches at the demon, leaping from mangrove trunk to trunk. With the mud caking on their feathers and how dense the trees are it's impossible for them to fly. It’s much slower but it’s their only option. Well, the only option they can think off with bloodlust clouding their mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>FOOL!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hegel screams, exposing rows of flat teeth, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you realize what you’ve done?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only answer the demon gets is a roar. A2 didn’t expect Hegel to speak in any capacity, much less in a language they could understand. It didn’t matter what this beast was saying anyway. A2 is deaf to anything besides the thunder of blood in their ears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot reptile! You’ve killed us both!!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hegel’s teeth grind together, the sound rattling through A2’s bones. Whether it was just how the vile creature spoke or if it was preparing some sort of audio attack, it didn’t matter. A2 lunges at its body, forcing it to stumble backward into the mud once again. It rockets for the treetops with A2 close behind it, but the foul air that propels it sputters out well before it reaches its destination. They slash and bite at its tentacles and flesh, trying to cripple it further. A thick primary tendril slams into A2’s neck, sending them falling back to the mud. They fight to right themselves before Hegel can put more distance between them. Plants roots and long grasses bind their legs down in the mire, slowing their escape. Hegel loops its fleshy tentacles around the branches to pull its body along since it can no longer fly-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly the mud roils and rises up in an impossibly huge shape. A2’s body seizes. Muscles and bone lock together as they watch the earth itself swell around the body of some insane creature. The bloodlust and rage is quickly replaced with primal fear. They see a line of rocks… no, teeth. A snout with two nostrils that expel a geyser of swamp water. An eye larger than Hegel itself, colored an evil yellow with a single slit pupil. Hegel spins around as fast as it can but its body betrays it. The demon isn’t built for anything but flight. Without air giving it buoyancy it’s as helpless as a beached whale. In a flash of movement, the great beast that lurks under the mud, an alligator larger than any living thing A2 had ever seen, slams its jaws shut on Hegel. The demon doesn’t even have time to scream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As quickly as the enormous alligator appeared, the beast drags itself back into the mud along with its prize. The only sign that something broke the surface of the water at all is the displaced duckweed and bubbles that emerge from the depths.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before A2 can process what just happened, the swamp explodes with sound and movement. Something latches onto their leg, teeth cutting through their scales and hide. The water begins to roil around them. What looks to be hundreds of small fish with serrated teeth barrel towards them and their bleeding leg. With all their frantic strength they pull themself up by their claws and wrap their wings around the trunk of a mangrove. They barely have time to rip the distressingly sized leech from their ankle before the jaws of another monstrous alligator lunges at them. A2 scrambles up the tree trunk, just barely out of reach of gator’s teeth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A2’s claws sink into something thick and fleshy. One of the branches has a different coloration than the light grey bark of a mangrove; it’s a dull green, scaly to the touch, and shines in the light of the setting sun. A great snake whips its head around to face A2, its fangs glinting with dull yellow venom as it lunges for their wing. Without thinking A2 lets go of their grip and flails away from the snake. They plummet back into the watery mud and instantly feel more leeches attach to their body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again A2 bursts from the mud, this time not stopping to catch their breath on the trunk of a tree. It isn’t often that they admit to themself that they’re in over their head, but fear overrides any sense of pride that remains in them. They pick a direction and jump from tree to tree, scattering birds, reptiles, and huge insects that flee from this large predator and whatever they may be running from. Every move they make puts them in the path of one ornery animal or another; a slip of their foot almost gets that foot bitten off by a lazy snapping turtle disguised as a boulder, a misplaced claw rips open the walls of a nest of yellow and black stinging insects the size of their head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They have no idea how long they’ve been jumping between trees in an unknown direction; they can’t even look towards the sun, not with the dense canopy blocking the sky from view. A2 could have changed directions so many times that they’ve been going in circles and not even know it. With the mud and leeches dragging them down, they can’t simply fly away, especially not with how thick the mangrove forest is. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A break in the treeline appears before A2. They almost miss it in between scanning their surroundings like a prey animal. It’s salvation to them, the exit to this hellish swamp. They’d take the blistering desert over the bog any day. They could go back to Kaine and Emil, if they’d let them stay again. They wouldn’t complain this time, not about anything. Not after seeing this place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The break grows larger; they can see where the treeline grows thin. They even see grass and wildflowers growing on the ground instead of mud. A2 throws themself towards the light of the setting sun, hoping to any higher power that would listen that it isn’t just a clearing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly a shadow in the shape of a great beast lunges at A2 from another tree, soon followed by a second and a third. The creatures talk to each other in a violent language of chattering and barks… no, not the creatures, whatever is riding them. Three giant rats carry three women dressed in bark, leather, and bones. Each woman draws a crude bow and notches an arrow dripping with black liquid and takes aim at A2. The women bark something at them, perhaps a warning, and are met with a frightened hiss from the mud soaked Coatyl. A moment later the women loose their arrows, one of them landing just above A2’s head. They smell the sharp, acrid stench of whatever the women are coating their arrows with, and they don’t want to stick around to find out what it’d do to a body. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A2 leaps to the left, seizing a gap in the women’s formation and makes a dash for the treeline once again, but the large rats the women ride are far more nimble than A2 gave them credit for. One of the rats cuts them off and hisses at them, exposing yellowed fangs and festering sores on the inside of its mouth. A2 can smell its breath, like a rotting corpse, and recoils away. Again, they try to dart for freedom only to be outmaneuvered by the rats and the riders, all while avoiding arrow after arrow. The women cackle and bark in their foreign language, and though A2 can’t understand them, their tone is mocking. They’re making fun of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Faced with these three women blocking their only path out, A2 makes what might be the worst decision they’ve ever made.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They turn around and dive back into The Bog.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. What Lies Beneath the Mud</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow, the less activity there is, the more terrifying The Bog becomes. From what A2 can gather the smaller animals that populate this disgusting place fear the witches and their rodent mounts. Everything scatters the moment they arrive, giving them a wide berth or hiding wherever they can fit. A2 sits perched on the branch of a mangrove, high above the swampy floor, as a troop of the rat-riding women scour the bog for them. They press against the trunk and try to make themself as small as possible. A thick, hastily woven drape of branches and leaves covers their body and conceals them from the prying eyes of the witches, while a layer of fetid mud hides their scent from the rats. Though effective, wherever the mud touches their scales it leaves a stinging, itching sensation. All A2 can do is grit their teeth and bear it.</p>
<p>Only when the witches leave the area does A2 emerge from their spot. They scrape the mud and plant matter from their body and scratch at the itchiest spots. With the din of insects reaching deafening levels they figure the itching must have been bugs that got under their scales. They swat away biting insects that had settled on them while they were hiding. </p>
<p>A2 decides to wait until night falls before they move. Under cover of darkness they might be able to slink between the trees and avoid detection from some of the large predators, as well as the witches. As they descend from the tree, they grab a large insect and stuff it into their mouth. It tastes like rotting mud.</p>
<p>With the witches gone animals begin to emerge from their hiding places in droves. Birds resume their songs, monkeys climb out from hollow tree trunks, A2 even sees fish surface to swallow some of the water bugs that sit on top of the water. Their hand strikes out at a fat… something. They have no idea what kind of fish it is-probably a bottom feeder judging by the beady eyes and cat-like whiskers-but it’s fat and looks like it’ll taste better than the swamp locust they just ate. One bite into the wriggling beast and the oily flesh makes them gag. Just like the bugs, the fish too taste like mud. It takes all their willpower to not heave everything out of their stomach and into the swamp. They only just manage to swallow that mouthful and another before they toss the carcass to whatever submerged scavengers lurk beneath the surface.</p>
<p>Somehow the endless expanse of mud is more horrifying at night. Not even the light of the moon can penetrate the thick canopy of trees. Deciding to try and navigate in the dark was a mistake on A2’s part. Without light they fall into mud pit after mud pit, jump at every sound from even benign sources, and end up circling around the same patch of swamp for hours, as if the land itself is trying to swallow them whole. </p>
<p>A2 has to contend with the other inhabitants. Wherever they turn they see the shining eyes of animals waiting for them to slip up. Alligators much smaller than the one that ate Hegel sit in the mud disguised as logs, still enough that A2 nearly steps on several. Luckily for them they have little interest in the intruder and lazily swim away when A2 stumbles near them.</p>
<p>A2 walks aimlessly for so long they expect to see the sun start to rise. Though if they’re being honest with themself, they probably wouldn’t even see sunlight through all the trees. For all they know the sun could be at midday already. With no way to get their bearings, they simply pick a direction and walk. Something in the air feels dense, oppressive even. It drains their energy to the point where flying is out of the question. Even transforming would be too taxing on their body right now. They need to conserve what energy they can, which is easier said than done when they have to stop every few minutes to both pull themself out of mud and scratch their body.</p>
<p>Something is wrong with this place, and not just the obvious dangerous animals. Nothing feels right, looks right, or even tastes right. Whenever the mud comes into contact with A2’s scales they begin to itch. A lot. It feels as if something is crawling around beneath their skin and no matter how hard they scratch they can’t soothe it. Even worse is when the mud gets in their mouth or they eat a bug or fish. Then the itching turns inward. They’ll scratch at their throat and stomach as if that will soothe their irritated insides. It gets to the point where a scale or two gets ripped off, blood dripping from the skin beneath. All they can do is grit their teeth and bear it.</p>
<p>Whatever part of them remains in the mud too long begins to itch. The longer they stop to scratch, the more animals come to stalk them. Vultures in particular congregate wherever A2 stops to catch their breath or scratch themself. Though the birds scatter when they begin walking again, without fail they always find more birds than before. At least twenty or so vultures loom in the trees above them, waiting for the one time they stumble to be their last. </p>
<p>A2 has no idea how long they’ve been wading through the muck. It could be minutes, hours,...maybe even a whole day. There’s no way they’d be able to know for sure. It’s hard enough to tell what direction they’re walking in, let alone how much time has passed. A thick fog hangs just below the canopy, completely shrouding any glimpse of the world above the trees. </p>
<p>Suddenly the mud beneath A2 erupts in front of them. A rat and its rider emerge from the ground, quickly followed by two more hidden beside it The rider, a witch clad in bone and leather armor, shouts commands in a harsh foreign tongue as her rat rears up and screams in fury at the sharp barbs on its riding tack that dig into its mouth. The other witches hoot and chatter, raising their crude weapons above their heads and digging their spiked boots into their own mounts. A2, though brash, wild, and willing to throw themself at demons far larger than them, turns on their heels and bolts away from the trio of witches.</p>
<p>The mud beneath them hinders their speed. A2 struggles to weave through the dense mangrove maze while fighting against the downward pull of the mire below. A voice in the back of their mind tells them to stand and resist as running is a futile effort, but fear wins the battle this time. One witch would be an easy match, but three witches each on monstrous rats wielding weapons dripping with crippling venom is a fight A2 wants no part of. They clamor across the tangled roots of a mangrove, their clawed fingers digging into the smooth bark. Each time they think they shake the hunting party, they stumble straight into a cackling witch. Once a spear laden with a sickly yellow paste nearly hits their shoulder, they turn their eyes upwards. If they can get above the canopy, they can transform and fly out of this goddamn place.</p>
<p>A2 puts all their strength into a single jump from the apex of a root that arcs of the mud. They manage to reach another low hanging branch and scramble for purchase with their claws and feet. Just as they manage to hook their knee around the branch something hard slams into their back, between their shoulders. Their body spasms, their grip loosens, and a mangled shout is forced from their lungs. As they fall, A2’s arms and legs fly out to get a hold of something, anything to stop their fall, but all they succeed in is bashing their arms and legs into branches. The sounds of witches cackling and rats screaming echo around them as their world turns over and over. They fall into the mud, fetid water and sludge rushing into their mouth and nose. A2 forces themself above the murk and inhales as much of the heavy, moisture laden air as they can. Mud cakes over their eyes, effectively blinding them, but still they barrel forwards. If they stop they’re dead.</p>
<p>Another heavy force slams into their chest, knocking them back into the mud. A2’s chest burns with pain, making it near impossible to breathe. They claw the mud from their face to see the large witch looming above them, a massive wooden club leaning on their shoulder. She barks an order at the others behind A2, who toss something over them. It weighs them down, keeping them prone in the mud. They thrash beneath the covering, a net weighted on all sides, trying to claw or bite their way through it. The more they fight the more tangled they become, till their arms are pressed together with the rope cutting into their wrists. </p>
<p>They witches holler and cheer as they pull the ends of the net together. A2 is forced into a curled, twisted position with their legs tucked close to their chest. They whip their head around to bite at a witch’s arm. Blood rushes into their mouth as their teeth sink into the witch’s skin. It tastes like rotting mud, but A2 refuses to let go. They shake their head back and forth, trying to take off a chunk of her arm out of pure spite. The witch screams, and for a moment A2 feels pride and hate welling up in their chest-</p>
<p>The weight of the wooden club crashes into A2’s head, and their world falls into darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. In the Shadow of the Primordial Lords</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Okay this is for real this time I promise</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A2 wakes to a searing pain in their wrists and ankles and a disorienting sinking sensation, as if their stomach is about to drop through their back. Their body sways back and forth, dangling from whatever holds their arms and legs in place. They slowly open their eyes, fighting past exhaustion and caked mud, and see a mangrove canopy come into focus, along with their hands and feet bound to a thick branch with rough, hempen rope. Panic shoots through their body and they try to tug at the ropes with what strength they can muster in this position. All they succeed in is digging the coarse rope into their skin further.</p><p>They hiss quietly as they become more aware of their pain and the world around them. There’s multiple sets of footsteps that break through the din of nature, the clattering of wood and bone against each other, and whatever language their captors are speaking. Some of the women, clad in bone and hide armor, glare at A2 as they struggle but make no move to stop them yet. </p><p>Despite the hopelessness of the situation, a desperate escape plan begins to brew in A2’s head. If they can at least break through the ropes around their wrists then they could twist themselves around enough to undo the ones on their legs. They’d have to be quick; the witches are watching every so often, but seem to be confident that their prey can’t escape. Maybe A2 can use that to their advantage.</p><p>Straining their chest and arms, A2 pulls themself up to their tied wrists and bites at the ropes. Whatever the material is tastes horrific, like mud and rotten bone, but it’s brittle and easily sheared apart. With their mouth full of rope, they gnaw at their restraints like a desperate rat. Each bite makes the rope’s grip looser and looser, their teeth easily pulling it to pieces. The more success they find the more anxious they get, caution being replaced by frantic desperation. </p><p>Suddenly, one of the large warrior women shouts something in her harsh tongue. A2 hisses a curse in their own native tongue, before the witch slams her club into A2’s skull. They don’t even get to finish their insult before their world slips into darkness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>This time, A2 awakens to a vile stench and an ache in their whole body.</p><p>There isn’t one source they can place the smell at. It is an acrid melding of mud, stagnant water, feces, and corpses. The sting of smoke lingers in the air as well, but it’s different than a typical campfire, more harsh. The witches aren’t burning wood.</p><p>A2 cracks their eyes open once more, this time to the sight of a strange village settled in a rare firm stretch of mud. A well-worn path of soft mud and stone twists through the mangroves into a clearing; a barren pit of sludge dotted with structures constructed of gnarled branches and uncut boulders and decorated with grim trophies; skulls, horns, skins, and dried organs. Animal hides cover the roofs and hang above doors; bones and skulls provide support for long leather pelts. In fact, whatever isn’t made of wood or stone is made from bones and hides. Crude benches and stools stand above piles of corpses freshly picked, bare of all meat and skin, leaving bloodied skeletons to dry in the sun. It doesn’t take long for A2 to discern what this means for them. </p><p>The witches don’t seem to notice that they’re awake, and A2 plans to keep it that way for as long as they can. If they can get their bearings and search out some kind of escape route, then at least they’ll have a plan in some capacity. </p><p>Exploiting a weakness in the guard patrols doesn’t seem like it’ll be viable. There are countless women wandering around the village doing every sort of task available. Some are weaving, carving bones, and mending furniture; others watch the few children that scamper around the proud huntresses and their catch, yelling at the kids if they get too close; and even more skin and gut fresh kills, tossing the bones aside to the ever growing piles. Though only a few of them have weapons, gruesome crude blades and spears similar to the ones the huntresses carry, there’s enough to give A2 pause while they contemplate just fighting their way through the village. There’s no telling how many of the witches are competent fighters or archers.</p><p>A2 considers simply transforming and flying away as soon as their limbs are free. The canopy isn’t as dense here as it is in the untouched sections of The Bog, and even if they couldn’t fit through the branches they could at least jump from tree to tree and glide into denser portions. But with the witches’ pet rats and arrows that could be a problem too…</p><p>Before they can decide on a plan of action that wouldn’t immediately fail, something sinister comes into view.</p><p>A wooden cage, surrounded by skulls on pikes and inward pointing spikes, covering a gaping hole in the earth. The stench of feces, urine, and death attracts a swarm of huge flies that hover around the cage, enticed by the smells that make A2 gag. Another witch, this one wearing a mask made of a rat’s hollowed out head, grumbles something to the huntresses in a raspy voice before opening a section of the wooden cage. A feverish chill runs down A2’s spine as desperate, longing moans drift out of the pit.</p><p>The huntresses cut A2 down from the log suddenly; they land in the mud with a wet splat, before a brutal kick sends them over the edge and plummeting into the filth below. They land in a puddle of murk that seeps into their scales, clothes, and hair. Whatever the fluid is sticks to them in sick clumps of… A2 doesn’t want to know. It stinks of so many things that it’s hard to pin down a single source. </p><p>It’s hard to stand. Whenever they put their foot down the ground itself gives, either sinking and engulfing their foot or sliding out from under them. It takes a few attempts, one of which has A2 falling face first into the grime, but they eventually manage to stand and get their bearings. Their first order of business is to toss away the scraps of rope that still cling to their wrists and ankles. The second, is to address the men huddled together on the other side of the pit.</p><p>If A2 didn’t know any better, they would have thought that the men were all the same person. Each one has the same terrified, starved, desperate look about them. Like rats, they think. The men are covered with festering sores all over their bodies, some crudely wrapped with scraps of cloth just as filthy as the rest of them. Only one still has hair, but not much. Whatever is left looks as if it would fall out at any given moment. The same can be said for their skin, discolored, sagging, barely hanging onto their skeletons. Each man looks like they’re on the brink of death, or on the brink of rushing A2 and devouring them whole.</p><p>“Poor soul…” One man, the oldest it seems, says and steps forward from the group. “What is your name?”</p><p>A2 stares at him, watching his gnarled hands and twisted fingernails. They say nothing, but they stand tall, unwavering. They can’t show weakness.</p><p>The old man looks at them with sunken, sad eyes. “Can you speak, child?” His voice is raspy but gentle and nostalgic. It reminds them of one of their village elders.</p><p>They nod, but still refuse to speak. The other men relax a little but still stay close together, shivering against each other. The old man shivers too, but manages a calm facade as he steps closer to them.</p><p>A2 can’t read this man, or at the very least there’s too much to read on his wrinkled sagging face. There’s a sadness etched into every crease on his skin, but he smiles with such warmth that they wonder how this kindness survived down here. “How long have you been here?” they ask, their voice low and cautious.</p><p>The old man sighs, “I have seen at least three full moons come and go. The others arrived not long after myself.” </p><p>A2 watches as the other men begin to approach them and the old man as he explains his story.</p><p>“I used to be a cleric for the theocracy,” he says, sitting cross-legged on the ground. “I was escorting a group of Old Empire refugees to the Blessed Grounds and cut through a part of this place. Obviously, it did not end well.” His expression darkens, eyes fixated on the mud. “The lambs were the lucky ones. They were taken by the swamp creatures well before the Bog Witches found me.” He gestures to the other men, who now sit beside the old man. “These knights were snatched from their troop as they cut through the Bog as well.”</p><p>A chill runs through A2’s body, whether from fear or the cold mud seeping through their clothes they can’t tell. Part of their mind runs through escape plans while the other festers in a creeping dread that weighs down their limbs.</p><p>“Have any of you tried to get out?” they ask, though in their heart they know the answer.</p><p>The old man shakes his head. “I am afraid not. The walls are too slick to climb, even when the knights were fit. The witches only toss whatever rotten scraps they do not eat our way, to keep us weak.” His gaze shifts to a pile of shattered bones in the shadows of the pit. “Not even our dead can give us strength.”</p><p>A2 suppresses the bile that rises in their throat.</p><p>He rises to his feet, his joints creaking and straining under his emaciated body, and gently takes A2’s hand in his. “I am so sorry, child,” he says in a voice that wavers with the effort.</p><p>They rip their hand away, the old man’s warped fingernails scratching at their scales. He flinches away from their scowl and their bared teeth.</p><p>“I won’t die here,” they growl. “I am not going to die here.”</p><p>The starving men leave A2 alone for the rest of the day. It isn’t that A2 holds any malice to them, but to see these men waste away in a pit of their own filth is more than infuriating. There has to be a way to escape, and they won’t sit idle and wait to die. They pace around the perimeter of the pit, searching for stones, branches or roots, anything that the men could use to climb out. For a moment, they consider the broken bones of the consumed dead, but they refuse to touch them. Even looking at them makes A2 nauseous. </p><p>A2 carves a rut into the ground with their pacing, but losing themself in their thoughts has allowed time to pass much faster. Soon soft rays of moonlight filter down through the trees into the filthy prison. The chatter of witches and their animals fades into the darkness as the nocturnal Bog creatures begin their own songs. The torchlight that surrounded the rim fades to embers that barely illuminate the wooden bars of the cage. All of the men huddle together in a strange sleeping arrangement, possibly to stave off the cold. Besides the spasmic shivers that run through their bodies A2 would mistake them for dead. </p><p>If they are to escape, now is the time.</p><p>Their body feels tense. Each movement makes their bones creak and muscles strain. Perhaps it’s because they haven’t eaten in a bit, or the heavy, stagnant air of this place, but their mind feels clouded. For a moment they toy with the idea of waiting till they have a clear head, but they grit their teeth and launch themself into the air. </p><p>With a brilliant flash of light their form erupts into feathers and claws. The wooden cage shatters into pieces as the dragonic form of A2 bursts from their prison. From below, the starving men gasp as they wake to find the cage destroyed and a red feathered dragon launching into the air. A pair of mange-riddled dogs tied to a post of the ruined cage jolt awake, howling and snarling at the intruding creature. A2 makes short work of them with their claws and beak. The meat still tastes like rotten mud. </p><p>A2 takes stock of their surroundings as they touch down just beside the pit’s edge. Eerie silence replaces the din of nature. Whatever animals must have left at the sound of a larger creature, but soon A2 hears noises coming from the huts surrounding the pit. The moving of furniture, footsteps, and muffled voices. The witches would be coming out soon. </p><p>“Hey! Wait!!!”</p><p> </p><p>Just as A2 readies themself to take to the air, a pained, desperate voice calls out to them. From down below, one of the starved men looks up at them with wide eyes.</p><p>“Please!! Take us too!! Don’t leave us here!!”</p><p>A2 gazes down at the man and every part of their body begs to bolt and leave these men for dead. The starved men are dying anyway, they’d most likely die in The Bog from starvation or some hungry animal if A2 does pull them out. And yet they find themself crouching beside the edge and reaching down their neck as far as they can. The man jumps, his fingertips just barely brushing the tip of their beak. They growl and hiss, the urge to abandon the men growing by the second, but they dig the claws on their wings into the mud and lean further in.</p><p>Suddenly a bellowing voice echoes across the village and a massive shape charges them. A2’s head snaps up just as a large net is thrown above them. Just before the weighted net traps them again, they revert back to their human form and dive out from under it. They skid across the slick mud a few feet before pushing themself back to their feet. Looking behind them, A2 sees a witch that easily stands over eight feet tall lumbering across the village plaza to retrieve the thrown net. She locks eyes with A2, bloodshot, collapsed pupils filled with malice. Not keen on getting caught again, they dart around the side of the pit to put an uncrossable space between them and her. </p><p>Something catches A2’s eye: the glint of black iron in the moonlight. A few strides away, discarded amongst a pile of filthy clothes, is their sword. The hulking witch seems to pick up on A2’s idea and bellows something they can only assume are slurs. She leans forward and in two thunderous steps launches herself over the mouth of the pit. A2 wastes no time, diving for their sword just as the witch lands. Mud and rotten plant matter splashes in all directions under the weight of the witch, but the bog’s floor gives too much, engulfing her feet in the soft mud. </p><p>The witch lunges for A2, the mud holding her feet steady. A2 throws their sword up as a shield against her, but the colossal witch falls, her sharpened fingernails just inches from the black iron blade. With a short step forward and a burst of furious strength A2 drives the sword’s point straight through her shoulder. The witch shudders and slumps forward with a dying gurgle, blood and mucus pouring out of her mouth.</p><p>A grim, violent pride rises in A2’s chest as they wrench the sword free from the witch’s corpse. It surges through their veins like fire and urges them to unleash it upon the village. This place had captured them, wronged them, disempowered them, and the whole of this wretched coven needed to pay for it. All the huntresses, healers, artisans, and children. </p><p>However, just as their rampage begins, a crude arrow dripping with poisons lands in their shoulder. Before the pain registers in their head, their arm goes limp. Their sword falls from their hand into the mud and no matter how much they try they can’t make their arm move. Then the pain ignites A2’s arm from the inside. They fall to their knees and scream, their arm thrashing wildly outside of their control. Their vision blurs and pulses in time with their rapid heartbeat, the poison and pain spreading further with each beat. Something yanks on their hair and with their body rigid with pain they cannot resist being dragged back towards the gaping hole in the ground.</p><p>Whoever found them, and most likely shot them, tosses them callously back into the pit. The first thing they see when they open their eyes are the sad, hungry eyes of the starving men they should have left behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Sabbath of Filth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They lose track of time after the second day.</p>
<p>It becomes harder and harder for A2 to remain lucid as the minutes drag into hours, hours into days, days into....It doesn’t matter, really. They barely have the strength to look up at the sky anyway, not that it’d make much difference. A2 lay against the mud wall, their eyes glazed over with exhaustion as they watch the starving men they shared this prison with devour one of their own. The dead man passed earlier that day, and the others waste no time tearing into his flesh and breaking his bones against rocks. While they may  not be human, the idea of feasting on the man’s corpse disgusts A2. They’d rather continue to starve than eat the scraps of flesh off the dead man. </p>
<p>Though, if they are honest with themself, A2 considers it more than once. They turn their head away from the spectacle as the old man cracks the corpse’s skull open and scoops out fingerfuls of fatty grey matter. A shiver wracks their body, something that happens more frequently as the days drag on. As the temperatures change throughout the day, their body reacts violently. Shivering in the cold, sweating in the heat. Sometimes they drag themself along with the sun’s rays or hide in the shadows to maintain some kind of balance within them, but the comfort is always painfully temporary. </p>
<p>The inability to maintain their body heat is only one part of their personal hell, however, and not the most concerning part. After removing the poison arrow from their shoulder and “dressing” it with filthy rags, the skin around the wound turned fetid. It drips pus and infected blood constantly, spreading the infection further. Scales start to fall off of them in patches, exposing the raw, red skin beneath that bleeds at the lightest touch. Even their hair begins to fall out in clumps whenever they run their hands through it, or they’ll wake up to find more stuck to the mud. Their clothes feel loose; their vision is blurred to the point of near blindness. Whenever rotten scraps of food get tossed their way, they vomit up whatever ungodly thing they put in their mouth. </p>
<p>They feel their body falling apart piece by piece. They can’t even transform anymore. The last time they did they passed out for so long that they woke up to rats gnawing on their toes and the starving men staring at them with a horrific glint in their eyes.</p>
<p>A sinking suspicion rises in A2’s gut as they try not to listen to the act of cannibalism just a few feet from them. If that man hadn’t died when he did, A2 would have been killed. They’re outnumbered, weak, and if they were being honest with themself, they would have welcomed it.</p>
<p>Wasting away in a pit of filth is about the worst way to die A2 can think of.</p>
<p>They glance at a discarded bone fragment from the dead man. It looks to have been part of a long bone. Sharp, sturdy… lethal. More than enough to get the job done.</p>
<p>A2 braces their arm against the wall of the pit and pulls themself to their feet. Their knees buckle under their weight, but they manage to stay upright, at least partially. Slowly, they stumble over to the forgotten bone. One of the men looks up at them with the look of a starving dog defending its meal, but he remains silent and returns to his scraps of meat. The idea is revolting to A2, but the hunger pains overrule morality. They shouldn’t be alive, they want to simply be consumed by hunger in their sleep, but instincts drive their body to the point where they don’t even realize they’ve picked up the bone. </p>
<p>Commotion erupts from above. A cacophony of drums, flutes, and voices drift down to the prisoners. Though A2 can’t understand the language they hear joy and excitement in the strange song the witches sing. The instruments and their wild, boisterous tunes echo across the bog and loop back on itself, creating the illusion of call and response. There must be some kind of celebration or festival happening above. The primal, starved part of A2’s mind leaps at the thought of food being dropped for them, but that hope is dashed the moment they look over and see the old man sobbing into his hands.</p>
<p>“Oh gods...help us please…” he cries. He clasps his hands in front of him and bows low to the ground. The other men follow suit, throwing their bodies onto the ground nearby. In yet another language new to A2, the men begin to recite a mournful hymn the likes of which A2 has never heard. Its sorrowful, plaintive words, and though they can’t understand the language it sends chills down A2’s spine. It’s a prayer for the dead.</p>
<p>A2 staggers over to the old man, brows furrowed and heart thundering with growing anxiety. They kick him over to his side, the anger, disgust, and fear reaching a boiling point within them. The old man looks up at them, tears streaming down his wrinkled face as he wails for mercy.</p>
<p>“What the hell is going on?!” A2 shouts, kicking the man again.</p>
<p>The other men drag him away from A2 as they prepare to kick him a third time. </p>
<p>“T-the…” the old man whimpers, “The sabbath....”</p>
<p>Before A2 has the chance to demand an explanation, the cage sitting atop the pit is lifted off. Witches armed with spears and carrying lengths of rope drop down into their prison one by one. The men cower together behind the oldest, who extends his arms out in a feeble attempt to defend the others. He crumples to the ground after one of the witches punches him in the temple. One by one the men are grabbed and bound in rope. None of them resist beyond continuing to pray, whispering their psalms under their breaths. </p>
<p>A2 hisses at a witch that strides up to them. They can’t see her face through the strange, crocodilian hide mask she wears, but they’re willing to bet that she’s sneering down at them. One of her tattooed hands shoots out and grabs them by their hair. They thrash and squirm in her grip, lashing out with tooth and claw at any scrap of flesh they can catch. Their fingers catch the skin of the witch’s arm, but their claws fail to pierce through. The witch laughs and roars something to her comrades at their pitiful fumbling. A2 hadn’t realized just how weak they really are; they can’t resist beyond swaying their body back and forth as the witch ties their limbs together. </p>
<p>Their body, much lighter now than before, is lifted up onto the witch’s shoulder like a bundle of old sticks. Her shoulder digs into A2’s stomach, forcing up the few scraps of food from their gut. The witch just laughs at them, barks a few words, then begins to ascend a crude rope ladder that drops into the pit. </p>
<p>For the first time in gods know how long, A2 sees the world beyond their prison. The entire village of witches seems to be out for this festival, all of them dressed in scaled skin cloaks and ghoulish masks made from the heads of crocodiles and alligators. The children scamper behind A2, giggling and pointing at them. They gnash their teeth and snarl at the witch children and they dart away, screaming and laughing with fear and delight. The village dances, cheers, and sings as A2 is paraded through the square along with the other prisoners. They can barely hear the old man sobbing over the din of music.</p>
<p>An old woman dressed in an alligator hide covered with red and white paint approaches the prisoners, flanked by two masked huntresses each carrying bowls of black liquid. She speaks a long, droning prayer that catches the attention of the other witches, who gather around. Even the children go silent and cling to their mother’s sides. The shaman approaches the old man, places her hand on his head, then dips her thumb into one of the bowls and smears the black paste onto his forehead. She makes her way down the line of prisoners, each one being “anointed” by the paste. A2 snarls at the old, masked woman as she comes to them. Her prayer rises to a fervent scream as the villagers and huntresses join in. They try to bite her fingers when she smears the black sludge in much more complicated patterns on their face. However, their strength fades from their body. They can’t even lift their head enough to snag the shaman’s fingers, all A2 can do is weakly open and close their mouth.</p>
<p>A2 and the prisoners are once again taken around the center of the village to another boisterous hymn. The witches jeer and laugh at them, the faces of the crowd blurring into one shapeless mass. Fumes from the pungent black substance lightens A2’s head to the point that they feel like they’re floating through the air. All resistance in their body fades; they lie limp in the witch’s grasp, eyes rolling into the back of their head, jaw slack.</p>
<p>Then the music shifts from playful to sinister in an instant. Rapid drumbeats fill the air like thunder and the entire village silences in its wake. The shaman bellows a short hymn before the procession of prisoners diverts from the center of the village. A2 tries to crane their head around to see where they’re being taken now. They see five logs jutting out of a bank of mud in front of a massive open lake, the only patch of Bog that they’ve seen that is void of mangrove trees. The only feature on the body of water is a single submerged log floating nearby.</p>
<p>One prisoner is tied to each log with rough-spun rope, tight enough to hold the men up without any support. A2 snarls as they’re pressed up against the bark of the central log with enough force that it rattles their lungs and pushes the air out of them. Ropes are tied around their body, suspending them above the mire and facing the massive lake of stagnant water. The shaman continues her hymns and leads her attendants behind the logs and out of sight from the offerings. </p>
<p>A2 shuffles their body back and forth in an attempt to loosen their bindings. The rope digs into their already raw, exposed skin. Blood trickles down their arms and legs into the mud beneath. Turning their head they see the other prisoners wailing for mercy or sobbing quietly. They try to ask the man beside them if they have any idea what is going to happen to them, but all he responds with is a choking, hopeless sob.</p>
<p>Their mind races with possibilities in time with the beating drums, each more horrific than the last. They could be shot with arrows until they bled to death, flayed, set ablaze, or simply left to bake in the sun and be picked apart by animals. Somehow, despite the threat of agonizing torment, A2 finds peace in the closeness of death. Whatever may come, at least they won’t be suffering much longer. They could endure the pain, and they would walk into the next life without any regrets.</p>
<p>Well...</p>
<p>The surface of the water stirs as the drumbeats increase in tempo. The piece of wood floating on the lake drifts towards them… and grows in size. A2 watches, mouth agape, as the small log emerges from the water. The log turns from a piece of driftwood, to a tree trunk, to a snout. The piece that had been above water had only been the tip of an enormous alligator’s nose. Rows of spines and ivory teeth line this monster’s mouth in a crooked smile. Its yellow eyes seem to glow in the dim light of the bog and dart from prisoner to prisoner. Most of its body lies below the water with the top portion of its head visible. The rest is obscured by the murky depths of the lake, masking the primordial beast’s true size. Its nostrils flare as it drinks in the scent of terror from the restrained offerings. </p>
<p>A2 watches in horror as the alligator opens its maw wide enough to engulf one of the thousands of mangrove trees. Its rancid breath washes over them like a soft breeze carrying the stench of death. They close their eyes to the sight and wait for oblivion.</p>
<p>“Looks like I’m gonna see you sooner than you’d like...4S…” They whisper.</p>
<p>A deafening crack splits A2’s ears. Their eyes shoot open to see the crocodile’s mouth where the two men beside them were tied. They spot a limb thrown far from its body floating in the lake nearby, already attracting scavenging fish to come feast on the great beasts' scraps. </p>
<p>The village erupts into cheers, goading the alligator on to feast again. In a single swallow it gulps down two men as it turns to the old man to A2’s left. With a sigh, the monster languidly takes him into his jaws. The old man cries out from inside the alligator’s jaws. His hand, sticking out from its mouth grasps for purchase before the beast turns its head up and the kind old man is swallowed whole and alive. </p>
<p>As the witch village sings the praises of this ancient, evil creature, A2 can only look on as the last surviving prisoner. The alligator lowers its head back down, its yellow eyes level with their body. It… watches them squirm in their bindings. Its eyes alone dwarf A2 and draw them in like a terrible portal to its mind. There’s a strange, foriegn intelligence behind it. It’s sizing them up, or trying to understand the pitiful creature before it. The alligator blinks, its third eyelids gliding over its eyes like a fleshy viel, before it sinks back into the depths, vanishing from sight. </p>
<p>The music grinds to a halt as the alligator disappears. Confused mumbling drifts from the village as the witches try to decipher the will of the reptilian god, though A2 might be more lost than the entire population combined. Why weren’t they eaten? Why did the alligator spare them out of all the other prisoners? What will the witches do to them now that they were rejected? </p>
<p>Why does the universe refuse to let them die?!</p>
<p>Suddenly chaos erupts behind them. The sounds of panicked witches mix with hoofbeats, war drums, and a language that A2 can understand.</p>
<p>“Be on guard, sisters!” a voice bellows, “Their weapons are coated in poisons!”</p>
<p>There’s weapon clashes, war cries, horses screaming and rats shrieking. The crackle of flames and heat of an inferno starts to lick at A2’s body. They try to look over their shoulder, but the log is too wide to look around while tied to it. Instinct defeats their self destructive desires. A2 puts their remaining strength into thrashing back and forth against the ropes. The log shakes with them and eventually comes loose from the mud and falls to the side, taking A2 with it. They writhe in the mud and cover their body with the foul smelling sludge. It seeps through their clothes and helps them slide out of their binds. </p>
<p>A2 digs their fingers into the mud and drags themself across the ground towards a crumbling hut about fifty feet away. They spare glances around as people in black robes, hoods, and gleaming silver armor beat back hoards of witches and their rodent mounts. Whoever these new warriors are, they easily overpower the village huntresses and shaman. The warriors… knights… cultists… whoever they are… wield an assortment of ornate gold and silver weaponry. Swords, axes, maces, flails, all of them seem to emit light on their own, even when coated with the witches’ mud-like blood. </p>
<p>It is a massacre, but they could all burn in Inferno for all A2 cares. Damn the witches of the Bog and the Bog itself. A2 crawls on their belly through the muck like a worm but salvation, however temporary, is a mere twenty feet away. </p>
<p>“Sister! Over here!!” a female voice calls, a voice that is sickeningly close.</p>
<p>A2’s stomach drops as they throw a frantic look over their shoulder. One of the robed warriors looms over them with a dagger in one hand and a spiked flail in the other. The spiked silver mass dangles from a thin chain and emits a faint, fragrant smoke as it sways in the breeze. </p>
<p>“Please, stay still,” the figure says in a calm, soothing voice, “We’re going to-”</p>
<p>A2 scrabbles against the slick mud away from the armed figure, but a sudden weight pins them to the ground. Arms covered in black fabric restrain them as they thrash against the warrior’s body to no avail. A short conversation takes place as A2 throws themself back and forth like a cornered animal. </p>
<p>Two armored boots appear in front of them. A towering black robed figure in a silver mask depicting a serene face stands over them holding a small vial with a thin, long needle protruding from it. They hiss and shout and curse but their pathetic displays of intimidation do nothing to stop the warrior as the needle is plunged into A2’s neck.</p>
<p>Their world fades to blessed oblivion within an instant.</p>
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